Embodiment
by Erhys
Summary: Light never expected justice to be so...unjust. L never expected for things to get so out of hand. Kira's still Light. Light may...or may not be Kira. LxLight, MxM, with a touch of B, Near, a certain relative, and...Stonehenge.
1. Prolouge

**A/N: **This is basically a replacement of Altar Stone(my original version of this fanfic), basic plot altered slightly(otherwise I wouldn't have deleted my original), though I believe that this one will be more enjoyable (to read and write), though I don't think you can tell much from the prologue. My prolouges are naturally not so great, and my characters are speaking from previousness…Even if it is an LxLight, don't expect me to jump to the hugs and kisses immediately. Stonehenge does play a big part, as does Beyond (I love his character)...

**Disclaimer: **What the boldy thing says. Yay.

**Chapter 1_ Prolouge_**

_Wammy's House, April 26__th__, 1997, 6:28 am_

I remember him leaving, my idol, everyone's idol.

L, almost 16, was preparing to leave Wammy's House that morning. It was before I knew of the competition for his title, the competition that would come only a few months later. I wanted to tell him goodbye.

I wanted to, but I didn't.

Instead, I went to the library.

At that early in the morning, the library was empty. It was nice, having the entire library to myself. My favorite chair, that soft, leathery one, was in the corner, as always. I had walked over to that chair, had just sat there.

I didn't know, I still don't know, for how long.

Then the door opened.

I can still remember a little girl walking in, no older than myself. Her hair was deep ebony black, and her eyes were wide pools of chocolate.

Chocolate.

She looked around the room, and when those chocolate eyes met sky blue, she started.

"Oh, hi," she had said to me. "I didn't think anyone would be here this early."

"Yeah, I came here for that reason," I stated simply, not really meaning much by them.

"Oh. I see. I came here to look for my sketchbook. Have you seen it?" she asked. "It has a blue cover."

A blue notebook? Yes, on the windowsill.

"Yeah. Over there," I said, pointing towards the transparent glass. Out of…boredom? Courtesy? I got up and picked the object up for her. It was indeed a sketchbook. This time, it must have been out of curiosity. I opened the book and skimmed through it.

I remember that the pictures were amazing. But what else to expect from a Wammy child? We were genii, after all. But I couldn't help but be amazed. I barely noticed that she came up to me.

"Jaylin…" I read. "Is that your name?" I asked, handing her the sketchbook.

"That's what they call me," she replied, smiling.

Of course. No one ever used their real name at Wammy's, not that I had known why, not then, when I had barely been at Wammy's for a month.

"I'm Mello," I said.

"Mello? That must look so…pretty."

"Look?"

She laughed.

"Yes. Like the physical embodiment of your name."

Physical embodiment?

"How does that work?"

"Well, you know, like the physical embodiment of hate, or love, or beauty."

"There's a physical embodiment for 'Mello'?" I asked, intrigued.

"Of course. Everything, all concepts have a few."

"That's…neat. What…would 'Mihael' look like?" Revealing my name like that probably wasn't a wise choice, but I don't think I could have known any better, not then. Perhaps now, but not then.

"Mihael…I think that would be…a rose, with petals made of diamond, for the uniqueness purposely given that must have been from love…or hatred. Passion. The firm stability and the million-perspective jewel and flower that represents passion."

Coming out of someone who must have been around seven or so, the words would have been surprising, had it not been for the fact that it was Wammy's House they were living in.

"That seems nice," I said, smiling a bit. It seemed nice, yes, to know my name had a physical embodiment like that.

Outside, the clock tolled.

Seven. It must be seven.

At the same time, the door opened again.

This time, it was Wammy that entered.

"Oh, Jaylin, there you are. Did you find your sketchbook?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Yes, Mello found it for me," she said, turning to him.

"Good. L's ready to go, he's been waiting for you. Come on." He walked over, and took her hand, smiling kindly at the little girl.

"Alright." She turned to leave. "…Wait."

She turned around, meeting my surprised look. My thoughts, I remember, had been, _She's leaving with L? Why? No, maybe it's something else._

"Bye, Mello. It was nice meeting you."

"I…yeah. Bye," I said, confusion still lingering.

"Goodbye, Mello. Take care with your studies here. L will be back to visit sometime in the future." Wammy had addressed me that time.

I nodded obediently.

When they walked out of the library, I just stood there, waiting for my thoughts to clear up. When they did, I walked over to the window, peering out in anticipation, waiting.

There, sure enough, that little girl, L, and Wammy entered a sleek black vehicle. And then left the chocolate eyes.

I felt a sudden surge of jealousy. Why did the girl get to leave with L? But no, it wasn't fair to the nice child whom I had spoken with.

But then again…I would learn later that Jealousy was a feeling I would grow used to, a concept whose physical embodiment was, is, and always will be twisted and ugly.

_New York Headquarters, June 26th, 2003, 4:03_

"Janelle," I said, softly, to the dark-haired child.

The sleeping girl blinked before focusing on my face.

"Y…yes, L?"

"I'm leaving today."

Her eyes widened slightly, and she nodded.

"When are you coming back?"

I smiled gently. I wanted more than anything to tell her, _Soon, of course, and then we'll continue working on cases together. _But no, that, with such assurance, would be a lie. With Kira's capabilities so evident, 'returning soon' might become a problem, if I returned at all. True, I expected, no, _knew _I would win, in time, but I was not so certain about the cost.

"As soon as I can," I replied.

"When will that be?" she pressed.

What could I say?

"I don't know."

She slid out from her bed, and wrapped her arms around me. I embraced her in return.

Although her mind was far more advanced than the average adult, she was still a child.

"I want to go with you."

I stiffened. The very thought…it was far too dangerous.

I sighed. "Janelle…you know I can't let you." For once, I let my reasoning ability drop by that 40, just so the child could fit into my arms.

"Come back soon," she whispered. Then, she added, lower, "Please."

"Yes." It was not an answer to her plea. No, it was agreement, another plea, to no one in particular. Please.

Briefly, I pressed my lips to her forehead, one final time.

_Kanto, Japan – 26__th__ floor of the Kira Investigation HQ, July 29__th__, 2008_

Fury.

The fear…the humiliation…the loss…of losing. My pride could stand no more. He had the evidence, and though Light Yagami, _Kira_, hated to admit it, L, the world's three greatest detective, had beaten me

Now, strapped in confinement in a blank, dull room, I couldn't stand it anymore. I've never lost, never, not to anyone before, so I wouldn't know if I'm a sore loser or not. But, as most humans saw it, denial might maintain slight pride in losing, but in the end, it will only cause more damage to the dignity than it will preserve.

So.

Let the bastard know that I'm Kira.

"I am Kira," I answered, to his previously spoken question. "I am God. I am Justice! Or are you so blinded by your own stupidity, that you can't even understand that?"

The skinny detective blinked.

"Light-kun, Kira is a murderer, cold-blooded, nothing else. Please, direct that last sentence to yourself."

Fury.

That was it.

The fury.

Fury at being degraded. Fury at the idiot's misunderstanding. Fury at _losing. _

One mishap. A single step out of place in my goddamned plan. Ryuuzaki, Ryuuga, _L, _he never removed the hand-cuffs. Not even after reading the 13-day rule of the death note. Not even after being yelled at by the other investigators.

"Light-kun, your face color is a tad bit off. Are you okay?"

_The fucking goddamned bastard._

How I longed to kill him. For him to die, right then and there. I could almost give the death note for it. Almost.

"For…for the time…Kira reigned…the world was safer. Crime rates dropped dramatically! You…you can't tell me that you didn't notice. Before Kira, all you did…all you did was send them to jail, and…and they'd escape, they'd be released, they'd never be tried! People lived in constant fear!"

"People lived in constant fear with Kira around. Did you think about the innocents you killed? The FBI agents, Misori Naomi, Watari and I, if you had the chance? And those that deserved a second chance, those willing to reform? And what about the innocents that were accused?"

"L, you should know better than anyone. Sacrifices, there will always be sacrifices. A paradise cannot exist without sacrifice!" I hissed.

"Your paradise can never exist at all," said the detective coldly.

"Because you stopped me!"

"No, Kira," he stated. "Your vision is beautiful, shared by many. Who wouldn't want a world like such? But it is an impossible dream, one that cannot, _should not, _be attempted, least of all by a human, least of all with the death note."

"How would you know the possibilities? I knew, I know that I can do it! I can, me, and only me! The task was given to me! No one else could do it! I couldn't just sit and watch the world rot, not when I was given the chance to do something about it, not when the solution was sitting right in my hands!"

There was quiet, as my adversary pondered on who knows what.

"Light-kun. You were, perhaps still is a kind person. But you have far too much ambition. When the death note fell into your hands, when you had the power, you used it, because you had the ability to. But what changed? What turned Yagami Light into a monster? What turned you into Kira?"

"I _am _Kira! Justice! God!"

He ignored me.

"Yagami Light fell into the most deadly, most dreadful clutches of the evils of mankind."

"Damn you! I was—"

"And when he was consumed by it's grip, Kira emerged. But Kira cannot be Kira without power. And if Kira dies…"

"So that's it, huh? You're going to execute me." My voice was calm. But inside, I was shaking. Execution…death…_The human who uses the Death Note cannot go to Heaven or Hell._

"And I wonder…if Yagami Light can be retrieved from that clutch."

What was that?

Hope? No, I couldn't let myself feel hope. Not now, for my pride…

I remained silent.

"Kira, Light-kun, do you know what Justice is?"

Silence.

"I will show you. Yagami Light, you will work with me, to serve justice for the rest of your life, for all the lives you've taken, all the things you've done."

What…the hell?

I couldn't speak.

"No," I said, the voice foreign.

"I did not give you a choice. Yagami Light, a human will receive one life only. You cannot return to it. If I let you die, you will never understand. Therefore, I'm giving you another chance. Do not treat it as kindness, for kindness will be to execute you, right here and now."

I refrained a surprised expression from slipping, as the detective walked up to me. Suddenly, his pale face was barely an inch from my own.

"Kira will suffer. Yagami Light, you will see, you will understand, and you will not be happy, all in due time. And when that time comes, you will realize what a terrible thing Justice can be."

**A/N: **I thought i should post the first chapter with this...but I'm not really done. Oh well. I'll go write the rest now...


	2. As Long As

**A/N: **Oh, did I mention? I should have mentioned this in the prolouge, but...anyhow. Basically, if you have read Another Note, Beyond's personality and capabilities (eyes) are the same, it's just that the LA BB murder cases never happened...yet. I plan to explain the reasonish for his eyes. And notice i kept everyone's birthdays the same, i just played with one character's year of birth to suit my purposes.

**Disclaimer: **Of course i don't own Death Note or it's characters. Otherwise L and Light would be irrevocably happy, and Mello and Matt (:heart:) would still be alive.

**Chapter 1: As Long As**

_Somewhere Near New York, USA, August 9h, 2008, 11:38 am_

It had been nine days since he had been released from his confinement, thirteen since he was only on suspicion of being Kira.

Light Yagami was technically known by L and Watari as Kira now, but, stripped of his death note, of essentially his family, friends, _identity, _he was…not much.

L had kept true to his word; instead of sending Light to the executioner's chair, he had 'allowed' Light to live, so long as he served L's justice and followed L's every whim, to a certain extent. Admittedly, this path did override 'death' in the list of Light's preferred life paths, but only barely. However, he had to put up with it, unless he decided to have his funeral the very next day, though Kira wasn't likely to get a funeral, even.

He had considered stabbing L in the back with the pen he saw in the plane's little carrier tray, but, unless complete success is guaranteed, he would have his less-than-a-funeral the next day. Then again, even if he did succeed, he was dead, with all the extra security settings L set up, including the weekly-signal-or-else system that only L could reach with his seven set thirty-eight figure codes he had installed. Not to mention the thumb print analyzer. Fun.

Basically, Light was stuck following L's 'every whim,' for now, at least. Though that didn't mean he had to like it, as the cliché phrase goes. Neither does he have to act like he does. But, honestly, as a genius, it would be unwise to swear constantly at the person who half-literally controls your life.

No…

Scratch that.

Your very existence.

"Light-kun, I believe that we are almost there. I feel the need to warn you that the landing is rather unpleasant."

He didn't make any attempt to acknowledge the words, though his mind immediately alerted at the presaging. Not once before in his life had he been on a plane, much less a private jet; yes, a private jet, courtesy of L's endless amounts of money, with a sprinkle of his apparent 'need' for privacy as opposed to publicity.

The next few minutes passed in anticipation. Indeed, the landing was not pleasant. He felt as if he was strapped to an anchor, being dragged down under the water. Light suppressed the urge to empty his stomach of his small breakfast.

Slowly, the flying vehicle dropped to solid ground.

Movement stopped. He was still inevitably dizzy from the flight. A click came from the direction of the entrance to the room L and Light resided in.

Watari entered calmly, as if perfectly unperturbed from being a bead inside a maraca.

"L, we have arrived. Our next mode of transportation has been prepared. It is waiting not too far from here."

_New York, USA, Or more specifically, inside a moving vehicle (again), a few minutes later that day_

"Light-kun, are you hungry?" asked the detective with nonchalance. Ever since Light was 'released,' L had acted as if nothing had ever happened, albeit the few casual Kira comments from time to time. But still…they were casual.

"Yes," replied Light. He was a great deal more different. Most of the words he spoke with the detective were comprised of a single syllable.

"Watari, could you please stop at the closest fast-food restaurant? That serves reasonable foods, of course," said the detective in English.

Reasonable foods as in 560-calorie sugar pies, most likely.

"Of course," replied the old man in the same language.

English…so, perhaps, that is L's original nationality? But then, with his looks, it was considerably hard to tell.

The car swung elegantly into the parking-lot of a small café. It came to a halt, and L rocked forward slightly in his crouch.

The air was humid outside. L, in his usual attire, must have lived in a sauna for half his life to look so calm and cool in the weather, with a side helping of global-warming.

Even without the handcuffs, the two attracted strange glances. Or maybe it was just L. Light, for all he knew, was perfectly normal.

Once seated inside the café, with Watari off to…somewhere, Light contemplated his…situation, per se. L had informed him that he was somewhere in the state of New York, in the all famous country of America. In a normal state of affairs, Light would be extremely animated at the prospect of being in a new, famous country. But then again, the current circumstances were not normal. He could not deny the slight eagerness, nonetheless. Slight being the operative word.

"Light-kun, you realize that it is best for you to get over your depressive denial. You are stuck with me for an unknown amount of time. I suggest you try your best to accept that fact," said the detective, looking up from his ordered plate of strawberry-lime cheesecake.

"Depressive denial? Ryuuzaki, no, _L, _at the very least, could you please try a little harder at understanding my predicament?"

"I understand your predicament perfectly well. There is a fair chance that I might act similarly if it were to be the other way around. However, I am merely suggesting the most productive and reasonable thing to do wherein your contentment is concerned."

Light snorted.

"My contentment? Like hell!" he spat.

"Would you really prefer execution over a lifetime service to justice?"

Would he? No..._The human who uses the Death Note cannot go to Heaven or Hell. _The thought of ceasing to exist was...pure horror. But deprivation of his pride through _this? _Light couldn't say he liked it, not at all, but surely, surely it was better than _death, _if only marginally. No. Even if it's a blow to his pride, Light had to admit that this was more than marginally better than nonexistence.

For one, he could be locked up in prison...

"No," he muttered quietly. What was the point of lying?

L nodded.

"I thought so. Light-kun, the world at large believes that you are dead. Misa Amane has also lost her memories, and has gone completely unpunished, courtesy of Rem-san. The investigation team believes that I have chosen to capture Kira by myself, out of guilt. Soon, they will notice that Kira has stopped judgement. They, as well as countless others, will believe that Kira has either died or been executed. The government officials will attempt to contact me for confirmation."

The pale insomniac took a bite of his pie.

"I, being myself, can satisfy them enough to stop their questioning, and if they refuse to desist probing, I can simply refuse to tell them. However, we are not the only geniuses on this planet. There are others, who, even if less intelligent, have the wits to suspect you should something slip. Should the governments find out that Kira s alive, and in custody of L, then we will both be in danger. Should that happen, I cannot say that your safety is guaranteed over mine. The world values my intellect, as you may or may not have noticed, so if it comes down to it, I do have a way out. As for you..."

He left Light to fill in the blank.

"Light-kun, for your own safety and well-being, for both our conveniences, I suggest you drop the cold shoulder and take back your almost never-failing acting skills."

"What's suspicious about hating your adversary?"

L blinked.

"Acting so open about it, of course. Hanging around your...hated adversary 24/7 is extremely common, don't you think?"

" 'Keep your friends close, and enemies closer,' " he retorted.

"But the fact that you _are _my enemy in the first place...that doesn't arouse any questioning at all, does it?"

"Why would it matter? You are, after all, a complete social recluse. The only two people I'll probably ever be around for the rest of my life already know I'm Kira."

The skinny raven-haired man blinked yet again.

"Light-kun...did you ever think about what would happen after you die? How would Kira continue his judgement?"

_What on earth?_

"Of course. I would make sure that there's someone out there who can carry out my judgement before I... am unable to do the judging myself."

"As in a successor?"

Light nodded.

L tilted his head.

Then it snapped together. _Of course, _thought Light.

"You have a successor."

The corners of L's mouth turned up as he took another bite of pie.

"But...wouldn't you tell him or her about Kira?"

"Not necessarily. I believe it possible that they will figure it out themselves. Furthermore, it is not just my successors. You cannot possibly think that all my cases are done in complete seclusion from the world. Besides, you will act as another L."

Light took in what the man had just said.

"Serving your justice...as in taking your profession."

"Yes. You will work alongside me, both literally and nonliterary."

Well. That was better than being locked up all day doing…something else. Detective work did hold a fair share of interest for him. After all, when he did work with L, without his memories, it was…calming. Fun, almost. True, he had rather not been chained to an insomniac who utterly deprived him of any adequate amount of sleep, whatsoever, or had his privacy completely thrown out the window on account of being a Kira suspect, but in that short amount of time, he almost felt as if…he had a friend.

No, not friend, not really. More like… a comrade. But then, they often fought over the most ridiculous things, and 'comrades' didn't necessarily apply. Then, an acquaintance, whose company he didn't despise, or found boring, or bothersome, for the most part. Company that he…enjoyed?

Perhaps, yes, he had considered Ryuuzaki a friend, but that was once upon a time, a story that had long passed…Kira and L were, are, and always will be nothing more than enemies.

"Light-kun…you don't need to hate me," said L, a complete tone change. His voice was softer, and Light's memory flashed back to a time when he was memory-less. "Kira, perhaps, will always hate me, maybe he _needs _to hate me, but you, Light-kun…you don't need to hate me."

The addressed quickly masked his surprise.

"What are you talking about? I am Kira. Kira, Yagami Light, will always hate L," he stated.

L, in an even softer voice, added, "I don't want Yagami Light to hate Ryuuzaki."

Light was honestly surprised now, by the words, by the voice, by his own thought. He could find a way to use this against the detective, his mind offered. He could go along with everything. Yagami Light is a genius, after all.

But Yagami Light was human, too. He didn't want to hate the only person whom he found interesting, intelligent, and even admirable. Didn't want to. But he was given the role of Kira, and Kira will indeed always hate L. Perhaps if they were both given different roles…not God of a new paradise, or Greatest Detective in the World with an extreme sense of Justice, but just…themselves. But no, the world needed L, the world needs Kira. L and Kira brought Light and Ryuuzaki together, and for however short a time, they had finally found a _friend _in each other. For however short a time, despite the trouble, the pain, it was…worth it, Light supposed.

But loosing Kira is not.

"L, you will always be Kira's enemy, you will always be my enemy."

"I couldn't care less about Kira."

Light sighed in frustration. Why couldn't he understand?

"L, I _am _Kira. Yagami Light is Kira."

"Kira is Yagami Light," said L.

"Yes."

"…But Yagami Light is not, no, was not Kira."

"Of course. Before I found the death note I was just a student."

"Perhaps he still isn't Kira."

Light never believed that he would ever want L to know, believe, the true identity of Kira until now.

"L…I killed criminals, judged them, got rid of dissenters. If I had the chance, I would have killed you. _Yagami Light is Kira."_

"Perhaps…Light-kun, did you hate Ryuuzaki? Do you hate him?"

_Do I hate Ryuuzaki? _

"No," he finally replied. "I never hated Ryuuzaki. He never tried to kill me."

"Do you hate me now?"

"Yes."

"But, Light-kun, I am speaking to you as Ryuuzaki."

"No, you are speaking to me as L."

"What's the difference?"

"L is Kira's enemy."

"But I am speaking to Light-kun, and I know this because Kira would never say that he doesn't hate me."

Light frowned.

"Then it is L speaking to Light. There is no difference."

L looked down at his half-eaten pie, and back to Light.

"Would you like some pie?"

Light blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"If I were speaking to you as L, I would never offer you any of my pie."

"Ryuuzaki wouldn't either."

"To most people. However, Ryuuzaki knows Light better than L, and Ryuuzaki knows that Light hates pie. Therefore, Ryuuzaki would be able to offer his pie to Light-kun without worrying about suffering from stolen-pie phobia."

Light couldn't help it. He smiled.

"'Stolen-pie phobia?' Does that even exist?"

"I have recently discovered the existence of such a disease, though it is exceedingly rare. Come to think of it, I have also discovered sugar-deprivation phobia, chocolate-disappearance phobia, and strawberry-less cake phobia."

"Interesting. And these phobias have found in humanity how many times?"

"Once each."

"I assume in yourself."

"That is correct, Light-kun. I have also discovered deprivation-of-death-note phobia and 24/7-Misa-Amane's-Presence phobia, though in a different subject."

"The second one is an extremely common phobia for sensible people."

"Very challenging to find those people nowadays."

"Agreed."

"Light-kun?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still hate me?"

And for a minute, L was really just Ryuuzaki, and Light was just…Light. But then came the memory of his trapped situation, his cornered life.

"As long as I am here against my will," he said softly.

"I thought so," said the detective.

_As long as I am Kira._

_As long as you are L._

"But…that doesn't mean we can't try to be friends on the outside," Light offered. _God, I'm going insane. _

"Yes," murmured L. "Only on the outside…"

Maybe that _did _make Light sad, but that's the way it should be. The way it always would be.

Perhaps he was already insane.

_New York, USA, Ikea, 2:42pm_

It was an abnormal sight, seeing the three greatest detectives in the world walk around with a teddy bear in his arms.

And not just a teddy bear, a teddy bear dressed like some four-year-old Botticelli in art class, complete with the artistical hat and RGB palate.

Light was currently 99 sure that he had gone insane. Hallucinations, after all, were very solid proof.

"Christopher, could you please not join the amounts of people gawking at me at this moment?" said L in perfect English. "I'm currently in dire need of finding the greetings card rack."

"I believe we passed them earlier today," replied Light in the same language.

Apparently L had developed another phobia: Yagami-Light-is-alive-discoverment phobia. Light believes that he himself has a similar disease. To prevent the two from ever suffering from this newly discovered syndrome, they have taken a few precautions. As of a few minutes ago, Light's name would now be Christopher Lee. L came to the conclusion that it would be far too much to change Light's ancestry altogether, though having him remain Japanese might be a problem. Therefore 'Yagami Light' is still officially Asian, only a different specific.

L also managed to squeeze a bit of information out of Light. More specifically, the different languages he knew, and his fluidity in each. Light, being a natural prodigy in various subjects, already learned English, Spanish, and a few different dialects of Chinese through school and other extracurricular programs. In his free time, he took to learning a bit of French and Italian, the two other major languages. Of course he knew Latin, but that didn't count. It was, after all, a dead language. He was fluent in all but Italian, though he still had a slight, almost indiscernible accent in French.

Meanwhile Light unwillingly learned that L knew a total of 58 different languages, a few of which he had never heard of. An extremely interesting African lingo, for one, which consisted of the clicking of the tongue, and hardly any direct vocal usage.

At the card rack, Light watched as L observed the brightly decorated pieces of paper. Birthday cards. What was L going to do with birthday cards?

"Birthday cards, Ryuuzaki?"

"It's for someone."

Someone? Light's own birthday was in February, L's was in October, Watari's birthday was in…an unknown month.

"For Walter?" he asked, using the substitute English name for the proxy.

"No, it is not for Walter."

While Light pondered, he saw L slip a card inside an envelope. All he caught was half a p and a y over a cheery 'day' before L started walking towards the cash register.

Surprisingly enough, the teddy bear cost about seventy US dollars. L explained with something about 'designer label plush toys as opposed to designer label clothes.'

Back in the sleek vehicle, Light decided to press further into his interrogation of the birthday card.

"Is this someone a person that I might know?" He doubted it.

"No, Light-kun, and that is why you will be introduced as Christopher Lee."

"And that teddy bear is the gift?"

"Yes."

Interesting. So this someone is most probably…

"A child?"

Light waited for L to answer.

"No…not anymore." His voice sounded…sad, almost. "It's been five years…I've missed so much…"

By the tone of his voice, Light decided it best to cease his questioning.

"Sir, do you have any other destination in mind before returning?"

"No, Watari, it's been long enough."

The ride continued in silence for another hour or so.

When they finally began to slow down, it was in front of a huge penthouse, at least the size of the Kira Investigation headquarters, if not greater. Watari was the first to exit the car. Light glanced at L, who had made no move, and he did the same. They watched as the assistant lingered around with the security gates for a few long moments, as if talking to someone.

"Where are we?" asked Light, finally breaking the silence.

"This, here, is perhaps one of my most important and frequently used living areas. It has air-tight security, so breaking in is essentially impossible."

Watari had finally returned, and was once again driving the car, this time through the gates. As they closed, Light turned to observe the penthouse. Yes, it was great, and big, and fancy, but it looked more like the home of some insanely rich billionaire as opposed to the world's three greatest detectives.

As soon as the car was parked, Light got out, glad to be on a solid, unmoving surface. They walked towards the actual building, and it didn't take all _too _long to get inside, 'too' being the operative word.

Their first destination inside was the closest elevator. Watari seemed to be leading, since L was too busy molesting his thumb.

They waited patiently for the door of the elevator to open.

There was a 'ding,' and the sound of a door sliding open. Light looked up expectantly.

The elevator was open, but he couldn't get in.

He couldn't get in because inside was a figure, staring with wide eyes at the person next to him.

He glanced at L, whose lips moved to say something, but he heard no sound. Being a skilled lip-reader, Light managed to discern something along the lines of…

There was a quick blur as the figure inside the elevator disappeared, only to reappear in the arms of a very speechless detective.

"…_L…"_ She sounded rather unsteady.

The addressed finally smiled, and without taking his eyes off the dark-haired girl, said softly to Light, "Christopher, meet my sister, Jaylin."

**A/N: **Bad way to shape Jaylin's personality by introducing her like this, but i honestly had to. Don't hate her yet. Yet being the operative word... Well, some of you might be yelling at me about giving L a sister in the first place, but technically speaking, there's nothing in the series that proves that he doesn't have siblings. Even if L did say such, it can be dismissed as an attempt to protect them/his identity and such. And the whole history thingy will be explained in the next chapter.

And also, since Death Note is the original work, and Another Note is a spin-off, I tend to twist a few things in Nisioisin's Another Note, once again to suit my selfish purposes. Although his work was very well-written and set up.


	3. Mirror

**A/N: **Hellos again...And here's another chapter. It basically acts as a...not really a filler, more of a...linkish thing? Ah...well. Not much to say here.

**Disclaimer: **Need I say more? Goes mourn in corner.

**Chapter 2: Mirror**

_New York Headquarters, August 9__th__, 2008, 4:09pm_

Strange.

How strange that a single, lone, letter of the english alphabet could cause the world to freeze. Cause chaos, and unmoving tranquillity.

L.

Just L. But so much more.

Her brilliant, beautiful brother was alive, safe, and _standing in front of her. _

For once, her magnificent brain failed her. She didn't notice that there were two others beside him, one standing in confusion, the other in benign patience. All she knew was that _he _was back.

Without putting much thought into the action, the dark-haired girl threw her arms around the man. How strange. The world actually stopped. According to science, Jaylin knew that wasn't possible. But…there he was. Five years since.

And in a way, it was exactly the same as it always had been, five years ago. It made her feel so secure, to be in his arms. And he was so warm, so soft, so familiar. He was L Lawliet. Not L, the three greatest detectives in the world, but just…

"…_L…"_

_L._

She was crying. Why was she crying? Wasn't she happy that her brother was back? Wasn't she glad that he was safe, safe and alive?

How…cliché. Yet human.

Yes. She was beyond relieved, beyond happy. Although she had always known, to some extent, that he would defeat Kira, that he would win, she still worried. Sometimes, she still felt trepidation. After all, five years was a long time, no matter how you spent it.

"Christopher, this is my sister, Jaylin," came L's soft voice. It sounded just like it always had when he spoke to her, with that soft, kind undertone hidden beneath the stoic disguise.

Beyond that long-missed sound, Jaylin heard the words. Faintly, she stored in her mind that there were others present, though she didn't let go of L. Quite the contrary, actually.

"Christopher will be staying here for a few days," L said, this time directly to the person still clutching tightly to him.

"Yes," she whispered, voice still prone to unevenness.

"I will show you to a suitable room. Please follow me," said another voice she recognized. Quillish Wammy, her brother's proxy, the brilliant inventor, and the founder of Wammy's House, the orphanage both her and her brother grew up in.

Wammy led the man named Christopher away, and for that, she was grateful. Slowly, she sought back her senses.

"You know, I'm glad I made it back in time."

Jaylin managed a soft laugh.

"Five years later is definitely 'back in time.'"

"I meant for your 18th birthday," he stated.

"My birthday…"

"Yes. Happy birthday, Janelle." He pulled away to display the objects in his hand. Jaylin wiped away any trace of tears before taking them into her hand. A teddy bear, dressed like some Italian renaissance artist.

"Thank you," she smiled. "You didn't have to…having you back is enough."

"I thought that maybe you'd forgotten that the great L is your brother."

What a ridiculous assumption.

"Impossible," she muttered. The whole time that he was gone, Jaylin had almost pulled her hair out to prevent herself from contacting him. The only reason she didn't was on his orders, that if Kira discovered any sort of connection at all, they would both be in danger, perhaps Jaylin herself moreso than L. For all the world, for all Kira knew, L had no family ties to anyone alive whatsoever.

"I really missed you, you know," she said with sudden nonchalance, as if stating the weather.

"Yes. As did I you," replied L in a similar tone. "You look very different from when I last saw you," he mused.

"Really? Because it's rare for anyone's appearance to change in such a short time span of…oh, I don't know…five years?" she joked sarcastically, finally managing to conceal her overwhelming relief and surprise. Her happiness.

She had expected him to accept the joke similarly but instead, he appeared saddened.

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Sorry? What for? It's not your fault that some psychopath mass murderer decided to attempt destroying the world."

He looked toward the ceiling with an unreadable expression.

"I suppose."

She hesitated before tugging at his hand, just like all those years back.

"Come on. I think your acquaintance is waiting for us."

_0o0o0o0o0o0_

Wammy's House, to a random passerby, was an orphanage. A simple orphanage, nothing special. Quillish Wammy, the genius inventor who had founded the orphanage, was simply a normal man with a kind heart.

Not many suspected that the 'orphanage' was in fact an institute, one designed especially for those with higher intellectual standards. Genii. Prodigies.

The original intent was to find the single person most fitting to gain the title as the man or woman who would control essentially all the investigative bureaus and agencies around the world.

First, there was the man who called himself Até, but he was quickly overcome by another, one who went by the name of Eraldo Coil. Wammy immediately began with the search for Coil's successor, thus the orphanage. Coil excelled in all he did, Coil was magnificent, and would have continued to be if he had protected his identity more carefully. He was murdered, barely a few years into his profession.

The world never heard of his murder, however, and that was because of a young teenage boy. This boy called himself L.

L tracked down the murderer before anyone even noticed the death of the newly risen detective. The murderer was apparently a man who had also once been quite a renowned detective. As a detective, especially a very skilled one, he was able to predict the thoughts, motives, and capabilities of criminals rather thoroughly. Using his skills and knowledge, he became a criminal himself. The public noted his sudden disappearance, but he was quite able to stage his own death. The public also noted a new and apparently unnaturally skilled criminal on the loose a few months later. No one ever noticed the connection between the two. That is, no one other than L.

L found the criminal, and had him arrested using Coil's name. The public, as well as the investigative agencies themselves, never found out that Coil had died. Instead, a few years later, they noticed a new detective, one that went by the title of L. L rose quickly and rapidly over Coil, and although after a while, another detective, called Danuve, seemed to challenge him, L always remained the best of the three. Soon, L had wholly and utterly taken the title that that Wammy had set out to give.

But L had a story too.

He was an orphan, from the day he was born. He was sent to an orphanage, naturally, and was treated like any other orphan. Then, the boy didn't even have a name. The adults just called him 'number sixty-two.' The children around him did nothing but cry. A few adults came, once in a while, and picked up some lucky child to give a home to, to give hope to. But no one ever looked at the strange child with the large, very unchild-like eyes. Even as a child, he was noticeably different. Then he reached the age of six.

At age six, the orphanage gave every child an intelligence quotient test, to put onto their records. Number sixty-two took his examination, and scored incredibly high. They re-tested him, just to be sure, and he score a bit higher. Perhaps that was because he had already had an experience to refer back to from the first time.

Nevertheless, Wammy tracked down the files, and flickered his eye past the sheets of paper. At first, he was sure that the number inscribed was for something else entirely, but when he checked…He picked up the child immediately.

Number sixty-two was strange indeed, even for a child genius. He refused to answer to anything other than 'sixty-two.' Wammy had insisted constantly that he chose a more reasonable name, but it remained a useless attempt.

Now, number sixty-two had never known his parents personally, but given the access he had at Wammy's he soon discovered their identities. Apparently, his birth was the accidental result of unprotected sexual activity. He noted that his mother was apparently of Japanese heritage while his father was British. They had been married when he was born, but apparently neither was prepared for a child.

A few years later, when he was ten, he did another check-up on his parents, merely out of boredom. What he found was rather upsetting.

He traced back the records, and came to a conclusion. His mother had borne another child. From what the divorce records implied, his father had wanted to rid himself of the child, much like they did with number sixty-two. His mother couldn't stand the thought of losing another child, and therefore kept the child. Number sixty-two was glad that his sister had at least one parent.

In the following months, he monitored the conditions of his mother, who might have loved him if given the chance, and sister, doing so for no apparent reason that he was consciously aware of. Finally, three years later, his biological 'mother' died of a heart attack (Later, during a certain case, he would find this to be rather ironic). She had been living under unfortunate conditions, trying to support both herself and her child. It had been possible that she might have considered sending her daughter to an orphanage if merely for the marginally better care it would provide, but had grown too attached to the child to carry out such an act. Nonetheless, the four year old girl was an orphan now.

Number sixty-two was not so heartless that he could realize this and ignore the fact. He remembered life at the orphanages, and it was not nearly as pleasant as life at Wammy's House. Besides, the child in question was not some random abandoned toddler; it was his sister, his family. He was human enough to know that family bonds were strong by human nature.

The percentage that Wammy would accept his sister into Wammy's was very high, considering the fact that by simple connection of genetics, DNA, and brain functionalities most likely a result of the right clash of genes, his sister was also a genius. Wammy accepted any orphan with an IQ of at least 135, and then some. Number sixty-two's own IQ ran close to 200, give and take; surely his sister would surpass a mere 135. And if not, there was always the power of the puppy-dog plead, which, although he did not like to have to resort to, was highly effective on adults.

But such a tactic was not necessary; his sister, whose name was Janelle Lawliet, passed with ease, with an intelligence quotient that ran close to, although lower than, number sixty-two's.

Life was not easy for her. Unlike number sixty-two, she had known their parent, the one that loved her, and might have loved him. She had experienced what it was like, to have a mother who loved her. And being torn away from her mother at the tender age of four, with the bonus factor of understanding more than the average child, was unspeakably painful. She naturally resorted to being a quaint introverted recluse, of a sort. Had it not been for her brother, she might have stayed that way.

Number sixty-two grew to feel like an actual brother to the younger child. He cared for her like an older brother, and treated her like a younger sister. However, being the prodigy he was, number sixty-two knew of Wammy's plan for _the _title, and knew that he was currently one of the best, if not the best. In such a high position, ambitious others would want to find an opportunity to bring him down, and surely a relative at Wammy's was a good start. Therefore, not many knew of his connection to Janelle, known as Jaylin by others, the meaningless little toddler-child.

But one of the 'not many' happened to be second to number sixty-two. His name was Beyond Birthday. He, too, had never known his parents. He had chosen that name for himself, implying that his name referred to the most significant day after birth, otherwise known as one's 'deathday.' How he found out about his relationship to Janelle Lawliet, number sixty-two did not know. Perhaps he never will.

It was shortly after that he took the title of 'L.' He accepted Lawliet as his last name, but he had yet to have a first. His first name would have to be one that he chose himself. And so he chose the most unusual, commonly unconjecturable name: a single letter of the alphabet. Perhaps it could be seen as he chose L to stand for his last name, but that was not the only deciding factor. L, because it could be read as _'el,' _or _'elle,' _in honor of Janelle, his only family. Twisted enough so that it was not completely obvious.

For the next two and a half years, number sixty-two, now L, deepened his knowledge at Wammy's. Years before included, he studied over twenty different languages, managing fluidity in multiple languages per year. His scientific knowledge was that of most of the world's majoring scientists and doctors combined. His mathematical logic was almost essentially unflawed, though 'flawless' would be an overstatement.

It was just before his 16th birthday when the pistol pointed at Coil released the approximation of six bullets.

_0o0o0o0o0o0_

_New York Headquarters, August 9__th__, 2008, 4:49pm_

After being given the key to his new room, Light was told to do as he wished, so long as it didn't include the murderings of any more people staring at cement walls, or planning to, for that matter. He wasn't especially surprised at the (almost) free reign of the building he was allowed. After all, even he, the 'criminal,' knew that escape, even a perfectly executed one, was practically useless at the moment. Besides, his main weapon had been rendered useless previously.

Ah, yes, the death note. How Light loved it for it's function, and how he hated it for those inconvenient rule. _If a human's name is misspelled four times, then the death note will be rendered useless. _

After Light so obviously lost, Ryuk, the shinigami who dropped the notebook in the first place, had left with only one death note: his original, the one he didn't drop. After Ryuk's departure, L was in possession of two death notes: Rem's, and Ryuk's second one. He gained Ryuk's second notebook, buried in the middle of a forest, through Rem, by promising Misa's safety. After forcing Light to give up ownership of Rem's note, and gaining ownership of Ryuk's second note, L returned Rem's notebook to her. When Rem had left, the only solid evidence left was Ryuk's second notebook. L could not discard it, simply because one of the rules state, _In the case that the death note is to be lost, the owner must recover it in 490 days. If the owner fails to do so, then he or she will lose ownership of the death note. _If Light loses ownership, he will lose his memories, something both geniuses do not want to happen. Therefore, L decided to make to death note unusable, while still allowing Light to maintain his ownership.

L had ordered Light attempt to guess and write L's own name in the death note. As ingenious as Light was, he could not figure out L's name, or a way out of following his orders, and was forced to do as L wished. Thus the rule that could wipe away the notebook's use fell into place. Ryuk's second notebook was just a notebook, albeit one that Kira and L depended on.

Currently, the notebook was probably being carried around by the detective, in who-knows-what manner. Light sighed at the thought of his precious queen piece being captured in such a horrible and disgraceful method.

Throwing all depressants aside, Light set off to explore his new dwelling. It appeared extremely luxurious, unlike the cold, locked room the terrified 10 of him was expecting. Even the color scheme was carefully set to the weather; light blue, mint green, careful tints of violet. While Kira raged on about defeat, Light couldn't honestly say he loathed his current condition. Yes, he could be better off with a dead L and a satisfied Kira, but now that that seemed slightly impossible, he truthfully preferred _this _to nonexistence or living in a smelly confined area for the rest of his existence.

Shaking his head in quiet reluctance, Light filed all prominent thoughts of Kira away. Instead, he finally addressed the slight bothersome nudge in his mind.

L's sister.

First and foremost, a serial mass murderer with a god complex would not even consider the fact that his mortal enemy, the world's three greatest detectives with a sugar addiction and insomnia to have a _sister. _Yes, in all honesty, it was a definite possibility, just not such a prominent one that would immediately pop into Light's mind. To suddenly come to the realization that _the _L actually had family, was a great, magnificent surprise.

Light dragged all his previous conversations with L, or Ryuuzaki, through his mind. In none of them had L said anything about his family or childhood, albeit the one time when he nonchalantly mentioned that he was an orphan from birth. But still…orphans from birth rarely had cousins and uncles and aunts to call family, let alone blood-siblings. Blood-siblings…perhaps this 'Jaylin' was only a foster sister?

No…

The two definitely were similar, if only in features. Jaylin possessed the exact same shade of pure black hair as her brother, a shade so dark it veered towards a hint of blue. The same cover of dark chocolate covered their irises, the angular face shape, the sharp nose, the pale, smooth lips. Yet, while L's mirror-like orbs possessed an unreadable dept in their flatness, his sister's expressed a dept that wasn't hidden. Light wondered for a moment, how much L had to have gone through in his childhood to develop such a need for concealment of his persona. She was his sister, but apart from the features, they seemed so…different. From a single flickering glance, Light could immediately tell that it was the brother carried the greater of the two loads received from the loss, or lack, of family. But perhaps not even L himself knew that…

Light sighed. For himself, he was rather fortunate. Independently, he had everything, beauty, brains, and brawns. Dependently, he had a great deal offered to him. His family's love, which he accepted openly. There was also the easily gained, often proffered exchange of friendship, as well as the concept of 'love,' courtesy of many people, the most irritating being Misa Amane. However, he never longed for these, never asked for them. They were just there. Hell, he could even take them for granted, but even that's a sad waste of his precious time. But L, L didn't have the choice of taking them or leaving them. He had probably never been offered friendship, much less romantical love. He didn't even have much family.

But, despite only having a sister and a proxy, L was still human. He, like Light, was given the ability to feel, the concept of emotions, the eternal curse of human intelligence. Even Kira couldn't deny the fact that Light loved his sister, his mother, and his father. Even Kira, _Kira, _Justice itself, could possibly, just maybe, come second to family. Even Kira could understand that Light didn't full heartedly want L to die.

Because L was also Ryuuzaki.

Light laughed once as the though passed his mind.

How utterly ironic.

_So long I am Light, so long as you are Ryuuzaki, isn't it? _

Light and Ryuuzaki can never coexist properly where Kira and L coexist.

And so…Kira and L can never coexist properly where Light and Ryuuzaki coexist.

No…that wasn't it.

L and Kira…can _never_ coexist.

**A/N: **I wasn't sure how to transition everything, so I just decided to save a few things for the next chapter. MM&N coming soon...


	4. 2nd, 1st

**A/N: **Lemme apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes.

**Disclaimer: **If only I didn't have to...but I do.

**Chapter 3: Seconds to Firsts**

_New York, L's Headquarters, August 27, 2008, 1:43pm_

"Christopher, do you mind getting out of my way?"

"Out of your way to what?"

"The structure of technology behind you."

"The fridge?"

"Precisely."

"I see…"

"Before World War IV, please."

Jaylin watched with interest as the man named Christopher struggled to hide a look of surprise, barely succeeding. Naturally, not many would expect her stoic brother to possess a sense of humor, at least, not a simple one. Most of his humor was displayed in complex manners that only those of superior intellect could understand. _Most _being the operative word.

The man introduced as Christopher had displayed quite a level of intelligence during the short span of time Jaylin had spent with him. L treated him with a strange sort of respect and taunting, neither especially towering over the other. From what she knew, Christopher had been…employed by L. The notion itself held some tantalizing pull of interest. After all, L wasn't one to employ.

When he did, it was usually for life.

No, 'usually' just didn't fit. Quillish Wammy, or Watari, was the single person to ever work directly with L, and even he didn't constitute as 'employee.'

But hypothetically.

L, finally arriving at his personal heaven, stuck his head in the large technological box. A few minutes later, he reappeared with a fork, a spoon, and a gargantuan slice of classical strawberry cake. The fork sunk through the thick icing with ease, and the soft, sugary cake gave way. In less than a second, L's fanned out fingers delivered the fork into his pale mouth.

"After the Kira case, there's been quite a lack of cases of major interest," he mused through a mouthful of frosting and cake.

"As expected, though your interest will probably peak soon. Some major criminal will probably recognize Kira's disappearance, and take advantage of it," shrugged the brunet.

"I'm speaking of cases of interest."

"There will be many."

"Or perhaps I should take a small break from being L."

Jaylin didn't have to look hard to catch the fleeting look of surprise cross Christopher's features.

"Please, don't be startled. I simply meant that I should drop cases until something expecially intriguing comes up."

"If you're speaking 'interesting' compared to Kira, that will be one long break."

"Perhaps," said L, more carelessly than not.

Christopher was silent.

"Are you not interested in what I shall busy myself with during that break?" asked the detective after a long pause.

"Not especially," stated Christopher curtly.

Jaylin observed with intrigued silence. No one brushed off L.

"I see," said L emotionlessly.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

"Are you sure?" he inquired once more.

"Yes," shot back Christopher.

"Very well."

Pause.

"All four of us will stay at Wammy's House for our 'break.'"

Jaylin raised an eyebrow. Wammy's…Why now? Unless…

"I thought I said I didn't want to know," snapped the other man.

L shrugged.

"I felt like stating that bit of information." A forkful of cake disappeared once more. "Would you like for me to elaborate?"

Christopher sighed.

"Would my answer matter?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, then."

The raven haired man stared at the other blankly.

"I'll assume that was a yes."

"…"

"On that note, I will elaborate just as Christopher wishes. I grew up at Wammy's House, an orphanage, or rather, institute for the gifted. It is also where my successors currently reside. I believe it's the perfect time to visit them, and perhaps chose the rightful one."

Jaylin guessed that Christopher will be working long-term for L, seeing as how L revealed so much. She glanced at him to assess his reaction.

Christopher finally seemed to show some interest. But then again, the topic of L's successor held every bit of intrigue.

"The rightful one?"

"Yes. As far as I know, there are two genii that would take especially well to being the next L. They rival each other rather fairly, and the competition between the two is unnaturally tight."

Jaylin didn't miss Christopher's quick glance at her.

"Both L and I are perversely against the idea of me as his successor,' she stated, answering his unspoken question.

"Yes. It is not that Jaylin isn't intelligent enough, or incapable. It is for more human reasons."

"I see." And Jaylin thought he did. The look of comprehension stated so. "Would you mind if I asked you about the succeeding process?"

"No, not at all. I do not believe that you will be able to use that information against me anytime soon" The colossal slice was already half it's original size. "Wammy's House was originally discovered by Watari, as an institute for young prodigies, most of which are orphaned. I grew up there, and came to be L, the title that the children there are currently competing for."

Christopher raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"And what title would 'L' be, exactly?"

"The greatest detective in the world, of course. With the added bonus of influence over international and national investigative agencies."

"How…intriguing. Might it be possible for me to compete as well?" asked Christopher in a joking manner.

"It is possible, but only because I cannot logically say 'impossible.' That is because I am only 99.99 sure that such is not possible that I will allow you. The other 0.01 is certainly of possibility."

"Encouraging," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

L nodded and simply stated, "Indeed, quite so."

"So, tell me, Ryuuzaki, is there anything I should know about my competitors before meeting them in person?"

Jaylin wondered at his use of 'Ryuuzaki.' It was a Japanese name, and she remembered that in Japan, R and L were exceedingly similar. Lyuuzaki? No…Perhaps Christopher Lee was in fact Japanese…She didn't think that his name was all too portraying of his heritage, but then again, she didn't expect that to be his actual name. From Wammy's, she had learned that names…were very powerful things.

L had finished his cake, and was currently resting his thumb on his lower lip, eyes rolling toward the white ceiling.

"Not really, since meeting them in person would be best. However, it is perhaps to your best interest to know that not many stay at Wammy's House after the reach the age of sixteen or seventeen. The situation is different for those competing for my title. Since the first detective with my title died rather early, I took his place at an early age. Currently, those competing for my title are meant to stay at Wammy's until I chose my successor. It is to my belief that I extended the date in which I chose my successor for far too long. If I had not survived the Kira case, I would have bee left rather successor-less, or at least, there will be some amount of chaos in chosing my successor when I am not alive to do it. Moreover, the succeeding competitors in question are either above, or at the age of seventeen."

Jaylin would have been surprised, had Roger not vaguely updated her every now and then. The reports never went into detail or specifics, since security, no matter how tight, had it's flaws, but she got the gist of it.

"How many competitors worth noting, then?"

"Two. The elder is about four years your junior."

The brunet stood thoughtfully.

"…And they are worth noting?"

"I believe that is what I just said," replied L with a hint of amusement. "Is your memory already slipping?"

Christopher stiffened slightly in disdain.

"Ryuuzaki, I just find it exceedingly hard to believe that an eighteen year-old who, from what I can tell, does not surpass you will be able to be much of a rival to me."

"I do not believe that you are one to judge by age. Please refrain from underestimating your opponents, it may result in your defeat."

Perhaps she wasn't meant to hear it, but Jaylin didn't miss the taunting infliction in his voice. And if this man considered himself to be superior than Wammy's best…how egoistic. On second thought, he might truly be ingenious, and can see to what extent.

"Fine," retorted Christopher rather coldly. "Where are we going, and when?"

"To answer the first part of your question, we will be heading off to the United Kingdom, or specifically, Winchester. I have finished my few adjustments and preparations recently. I believe that we should leave…tonight."

The surprised look enlarged Christopher's eyes a bare millimeter, but the raven-haired girl caught it nonetheless. Jaylin, who was very quiet, not quite introverted, simply quiet, was naturally observant.

Quickly, he narrowed his eyes, nodded once, and exited the room.

The colossal mass of sugar also disappeared.

"You will really allow him to run?"

"Yes. I doubt he'll succeed. No, I doubt he'll even come close to succeeding. He may perhaps surpass any one of my successors alone, but…there is something he lacks, something rather essential."

"So basically, he's acting as more of motivation for your successors?"

"Yes. My top two candidates are more competitive than most, though I'm still convinced that they can do better. My most preferable choice is to have the two work together, but unfortunately, they seem to despise each other. I'm hoping that Christopher will change that, or at least make it more clear who is indeed more fitting of my title."

"They are that close?"

"Affirmative. One seems to surpass the other in logistics and functionality, but the other is superior in creativity and personality determination and manipulation, a rather vital trait."

"…Like yourself, L, split into perfect, enhanced halves."

"Quite."

"Maybe…it would be nice…to interact with intellectual others...after all this time."

"Jaylin…I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"…Is that so?"

_Wammy's House, August 28__th__, 2008, 4:34pm_

This was _it. _Ten seconds left…yes, he could do it. So close…

_Ten._

The figure dressed in black pulled out a pistol.

_Nine._

A shot.

_Eight._

A cry.

_Seven._

One man down…

Six.

Another shot.

_Five._

A bullet zoomed past him.

_Four._

"Shit!" he hissed.

_Three._

The last man down.

_Two._

Matt could see it, the glowing light…

On—

"Matt, turn that fucking game off! I'm trying to do some freaking work here!"

"_Game Over," _boomed the system in his hands.

"Dammit! I was so freaking close…One more shot and I would've won! Dammit, dammit, dammit! Now I'll have to start over again…Shit, shit, shit—"

"Ferchris'sake, shut the hell up!"

Matt sighed.

"Do your work somewhere else, then."

"Play your stupid game somewhere else," he growled.

Mello was definitely not in a good mood today. For one, he swore half as much as he normally did. Yes, Mello can be rather aggressive, but he only swore when it was absolutely necessary.

In other words, _Near. _

"Chill out, Mel. Test scores aren't everything."

The blond snorted.

"Test scores? Matt, this is an actual case we're talking about—and the bastard solved it seconds before me."

"One case, seconds late. Not a big deal."

"Says the third place who quit running for his stupid video games and nicotine," he snapped.

"Hey, at least I'm not a chocolate-addicted catholic who spent his childhood with the mafia."

"Better than a nicotine-addicted hacker game boy."

"S'yeah, right."

"Yes, I _am _right. Now get out."

Matt sighed. Mello rarely got _this _angry, not angry enough to treat Matt like _this, _but when it happened, the 'third place' knew that his best friend was in serious need of his personal therapist. Lone serenity.

"Dinner, then. Later," he said, picking up his possessions.

Mello turned back to work.

Matt swung out the door casually, no particular destination in mind.

The corridors led out into numerous paths, flowing in different directions. His feet did nothing but walk, mind separate albeit the vague directions to move and breath.

Wammy's House…Wammy's Orphanage. An orphanage for genii, prodigies, masterminds…orphans.

Orphans…children without proper parents or guardians.

Matt was once an orphan.

He still didn't have a proper home, still didn't have parents, but he was no longer a child. He was eighteen…

Mello was turning nineteen, yes, Near just turned seventeen, but still, it was different for _them. _They were running as L's successors. Matt was…like everyone else. He wasn't technically _not _in the running, but he wasn't a considered candidate. He didn't bother, didn't care.

But, hell, most all other non-top-candidate persons who grew up at Wammy's left by the time they hit seventeen, let alone eighteen. Matt shouldn't be here…

Sure, so maybe his hacking skills were the best, untouchable, and his IQ was a stunning 169, but still, _still…_The earth was still round, the sky was still blue. And Matt…Matt was still little without Mello.

Mello was…his best friend, his only friend, closer than his brother, his only family in this hell of a place. Alone, there was no doubt that Matt could manage and get by, but he didn't relish in the prospect of it. So dangerous and inconvenient it has become in their society to become emotionally attached to any other human being…

Perhaps if he ran for the title of L, he'd have a plausible excuse…

Matt threw that thought into his mental trash. Of course he can't do that. For one, the very idea of all the work he'd have to do to catch up…

His conscious shuddered.

Besides, he didn't want L's title, his power. Sure, Matt was just as smart as the two main candidates, and he was probably also the best hacker in the world, complete with trained assassination and various other criminological techniques, but he just wasn't…that person.

He had nothing against L. In actuality, Matt admired the man. But Matt himself…would never be able to act as Justice, not the way L does, he just wouldn't be able to. Mello, perhaps, Near, perhaps, but no, not Matt. Matt just wanted to live out his life. Not in mundane boredom, of course not, but he didn't exactly want to become some history-making detective.

Mello, Near, L, they could get all the fame, but Matt just wanted to be Matt.

He stopped, and sighed.

But what was Matt?

He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. Somehow, he had ended up on the second floor…Matt certainly didn't remember going down and stairs. No matter. He wasn't up for any more walking anyways.

There was a spare lounge room not too far from him, so that was where he headed. Matt walked down the almost empty hallway, to the large wooden door. Holding his breath, he opened it tentatively.

Empty.

He relaxed. Matt himself was far from exceedingly social. In fact, he was fairly introverted, less only so than Near. It was…nice…to find a quiet sanctuary.

The teen settled himself roughly on a couch, reddish brown hair fluttering in the process. His first priority was to crack open his laptop. Long fingers hit keys in rapid succession; in a matter of seconds, Matt was in Wammy's security system. Careful to leave no trail, or set off any alerts, he froze all the cameras and listening devices set in the lounge he was in.

Next, he shoved his hands into his pockets to pull out a cigarette. His skilled fingers lit it without hesitation. If Roger caught him, he was screwed. But he would never get caught. Roger more than suspected him of smoking, but it'll take him more than a few years to catch Matt red-handed. He smirked at the thought.

Outside, the sun continued its path over the sky. Children ran, some playing their happy little games, others for the sake of it, an unlucky few because their health depended on it. Others sat around lazily, reading their books, completing their unfinished work.

Matt just sat there, gazing out the window in the cliché, typical manner of those desolate damsels in distress in all those fairytales. Normally, he be hacking up some random monster or assassin in his video games, or hacking into some random governmental system for the sake of it, or destroying the calm at Wammy's with Mello, but for now, he just sat.

His eyes flashed over the city, not searching for anything in particular. Until—there it was. Matt focused his gaze. It can't be…Wait—why couldn't it be? Oh, yeah. It can be. It was just so unlikely…

He lifted himself carefully from his seat, and strolled to the window.

There it was—that tousled midnight black hair, those baggy jeans, that loose white top. And beside him, the old man in a suit, a man who looked about, probably older than Matt, the three of them walking towards the building, children staring behind them.

Matt turned around, and strode towards the door. Just as his hand met the handle, he remembered. The cigarette disappeared promptly, and a laptop was under his arms. His next destination was another floor up.

In about two minutes, Matt was back at Mello's door. He debated between barging in and knocking, and settled on the latter. Toying with his best friend might provide some entertainment.

"What?" he heard.

"It's me, open the door."

"Go away. I'm busy."

"Really? Oh, then, I suppose…"

Matt trailed off, grinning.

"Suppose what?"

"Nothing. I could tell Near instead, but he probably knows already…"

"Knows what?"

"Never mind…"

By now, Mello could probably tell what Matt was doing.

The door swung open to reveal a very frustrated blond.

"Matt."

Matt grinned with ease.

"Hello."

"Talk."

Mello had made a useless attempt to mask his anger.

"The weather's nice."

"_Matt!_"

"Alright, sheesh, calm yourself. It's just that—"

Before he could finish, a little girl ran up to them, or more specifically, Mello.

"Roger wants you to come downstairs. L's here!"

Mello's expression immediately switched to surprise.

"Uh…yeah. That," mumbled Matt.

After receiving a glance of rage, Matt turned suit to follow the blond as he started towards the stairs. While Mello walked with a calm, dignified manner, Matt could only guess his anticipation. To them—all of them—L was more than a celebrity. His word was law.

It wasn't long before they reached the large entrance hall. As Matt predicted, Near was already there, still encased in his stoic self. L looked up as they entered, nodding politely.

"Mello, Matt," he greeted.

"L," returned Mello. Matt simply nodded.

L rarely visited, but when he did, there was pandemonium. Perhaps not directly, but it lurked everywhere. Matt could easily guess his reason for returning this time. After all, his main candidates were already seventeen and eighteen.

"It's an honor to see you again," stated Mello. Matt knew that all this politeness was just for show, for the other students, for the other adults, and for that pretty-boy brunet in the corner.

L nodded.

"I assume that you know my reason for coming?"

"Yes."

"Good. I would like to speak with the two of you later today, in a less…socially abundant area."

The blond nodded in turn.

"I would like both of you to meet my assistant, employee, friend, however you would like to put it. This is Christopher Lee."

The brunet stepped forward and gave a nod.

"Christopher, I'm sure you've already guessed, these two are the top candidates for my title, Mello and Near. This is Matt, third place here at Wammy's House, although he is not in the running. I suggest you keep all secretive and important files away from him."

Matt snorted. "Like that'll work."

"I doubt it will, but I believe it necessary to warn him nonetheless," said L, amused.

The door opened again, and this time, Wammy entered, with a black-haired woman behind him.

"I can't find it," she announced. "I think I might have left it in New York…"

When she came into view, Matt started. Her features were terrifyingly similar to the famous detective's, minus the homeless insomniac look. Matt glanced at Mello.

On his friend's face was a frown, a strange look of frustration, seemingly towards the girl. As if he was trying to remember something, and unable to do so.

"Mello?" he asked quietly.

"…familiar. I can't…remember…eyes like chocolate…" he whispered back.

"Is that so? Ah, well." L frowned.

Matt waited as L introduced them.

"This is my sister Jaylin." Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Mello stiffen, that look of frustration leaving. "Jaylin, these are the top candidates running for my title. Matt isn't exactly running, but the other two are Near, and..."

"…Mello," she finished.

"Mello."

**A/N: **Reviews, I stress, are very much appreciated. Otherwise I wouldn't know where to edit or what would make the story more likable...


	5. Angel

** Disclaimer: **Death Note does not belong to me...

**Chapter 4: Angel**

_Winchester, Great Britain—Wammy's House, August 29__th__, 2008, 11:28am_

Summer's light poured out into the open courtyard, or rather, garden, as Kira's Light walked by.

He had spent his morning, as well as the day before, exploring the place that was once L's home. The building, located beside that old, abandoned church, was seven stories tall, each floor alarmingly vast. Rooms lined the halls, classrooms, lounges, dorms, everything. He had walked until his feet screamed and whimpered, and yet, he still had yet to discover all of what Wammy's House held. Of course, there was the exception of locked or private rooms and areas, but still, the immensely cosmic building was…immensely cosmic.

Light glanced around, finally finding a bench amidst the tangle of paths and plants. He wondered at how these students managed to find all their classes. But then again, most of them had lived here for quite a few years, and according to L, they were all prodigies of a sort.

A bird shot from an adjacent brush at Light's movement towards the seat. For what must have been the millionth time that day, Light considered climbing over the walls, or jumping out the window, and escaping the grasping chains of that damned detective. And, for the millionth time, he frowned in reluctant admittance. Where would he go? In all honesty, Light was probably better off stuck with L than somewhere out on the streets, no shelter, no food, nothing.

At least with L, he was guaranteed, if a less preferable, system of survival.

At least with L, he could still cling on to being Kira.

L, Watari, they were the only two beings that knew that he was Kira. Not even Misa knew, and the death gods, they were off in some dead wasteland. Without his death note, he could not be Kira to the world. For everyone else, Kira was a memory, a nightmare, a dream. But at the very least…L knew. And hence the beautiful, deformed irony; L's knowledge, the very thing that destroyed Kira, was the only thing keeping Kira alive.

The truth was, L had utterly defeated Kira.

Even if L died, Kira would still be the loser. Without a working death note, without his precious tool, the tool that was meant to create a Paradise, a perfect world, a Garden of Eden, a Heaven, Kira was a simple memory to the world. But so long as L knew that Kira existed in Light, Kira would never let go, Light would never let go.

Light understood L's reason for letting him live. He just didn't anticipate L to be such a fool as to expect his little act of 'justice' to work.

L should know that Light would never let go of Kira, of Kira's ideals, of _his _ideals. L should know that Light would never repent, would never regret, would never long for atonement.

Perhaps L did know.

Then why, why was it that the flare of hope flashed across his eyes when L claimed that Light and Kira were not the same being?

Could it have been for Yagami Light's friendship with Ryuuzaki? But what a stupid, silly notion. Friendship…Justice had no time for such a thing. Light knew that L knew _that. _

The tulips rippled as a gentle breeze blew past. He had been unconsciously staring at them, and when they moved, so did his thoughts. Light blinked, and looked up.

No time for depressing thoughts. He didn't know what to do without a death note, he didn't know how to keep Kira's ideals and put them into play, but he would find a way. Light always found a way. For now…he would focus on his new, less enticing task.

When L had offered him the chance to run for his place, Light was a bit surprised. You don't see the CIA's head officer offering the Mafia boss his place. A second thought brought him to the conclusion that L didn't intend for Light to come close to succeeding.

Well, then Light would just have to show him, wouldn't he? Make L wish that Light was his successor…The idea of being the world's greatest detective, the idea of having so much power, now that was enticing. Perhaps L didn't have a death note, but he certainly had a fair amount of power over governments' legal issues and investigative bureaus. All Light had to do was influence a few twists here and there…and Kira would be back. Certainly, subtlety might be a challenge, but it was certainly better than nothing.

What's more, L would suspect Light of plotting something like that, so passing as successor would be a large challenge as well…

From the day before, he had managed to assess that the current two top candidates were like fire and ice. The boy named Near, passive, blank, and cold, standing wordlessly. From him, Light caught the familiar aura of L. The other named Mello, too old to be called a 'boy,' with his rigid, aggressive stance exerted hostility and pride. Neither seemed too much of a threat. While one seemed like he'd let emotion get the better of him, the other seemed far too distant to properly put use into quite a few human traits.

Light had no such flaws.

Neither did L, for that matter. Certainly, he might appear socially inept, but that was in appearance only. And appearance played no part over the microphone, on a blank, white screen featuring a gothic 'L.'

A faint rumble erupted from his mid-section, and Light frowned. He hadn't noticed his own hunger until his stomach alerted him of that fact. Rising from the bench, Light remembered that he was on the fifth flour. The kitchen was on the first floor.

Light groaned silently.

A few (long) minutes later, he found the entrance to the very huge kitchen. Thankfully, breakfast was over, and lunch wouldn't start in a few hours. The room was deprived of workers and cooks. He made his way to a large fridge and pulled open the door, revealing masses and masses of a various array of foods. Not especially up for cooking, or waiting until lunch, Light settled on the traditional snack of a ham and cheese sandwich.

He was halfway through with his meal before he noticed something wrong with the picture.

There was no L gorging his face with sweets.

As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen L since yesterday.

Unless there was another kitchen somewhere in the building, Light had no idea where the spindly detective was. Light finished his sandwich, telling himself that a day without L in his face was a good thing. After all, he had spent a good few months chained to the insomniac before he was caught as Kira.

Hunger satiated, Light left the kitchen. As much as he would love to stay, he didn't relish the thought of an angry cook storming in.

His room was located on the third floor, somewhere towards the middle. After a good five minutes of wandering around, he arrived at the door of room number 415. His hand reached up to the numeric pad.

"Lee."

The voice was clear, and cold, deep.

Light turned around to meet a blond haired teen, clad in tight black leather, a rosary hanging from his neck. He identified him immediately as Mello.

"Hello."

Mello pulled out a chocolate bar.

"L prepared a test case for Near and I. I heard that you also intend to run for his title. Come if you wish. Room 542. By twelve."

He left without another word. Light assumed that the invitation was made out of curiosity; was the new candidate a threat or not? And, in all honesty, he was reasonably curious about these two, this 'Near' and 'Mello' competition.

He glanced at his watch and grimaced; already 11:53. He had seven minutes to find room 542. A challenge, indeed.

Each floor had approximately 150 rooms, so 542 would be…somewhere in the center of the next floor, judging from the position of his own room. From there on, Light walked down all the halls, finding no particular pattern in the way the corridors were arranged.

Seconds before twelve, Light made it to a door marked '541.' He glanced around him. There were no rooms marked 542, 543, or 544.

Logic told him that the rooms were supposed to be either adjacent to or across 541. But…the rooms were…missing. Come to think of it, there were many rooms I which the following numbered room was missing. The dining hall, for example…But no, he found the next numbered room through the dining hall…inside. Inside.

_Damn it, I'm such an idiot. _

He shoved open the door to room 541. Sure enough, the three 'missing' rooms were inside the cluttered area. He headed towards the one marked 542.

The door opened.

"Hello, Christopher, glad you could come."

Light stepped into the room. Computers, laptops, wires, screens, everywhere. A figure in white sat by on one side of the room, a figure in black on the other side, day and night enclosed in a single box-shaped space.

L sat in a swivel chair, typically consuming a strawberry muffin. Much to Light's surprise, Jaylin was also present.

"Well now, shall we begin?" inquired L.

"Certainly."

"Ah, alright then. Please take a seat, Christopher, here. We will begin after I give out the instructions." Light seated himself where L instructed him to.

"The objective is simple: Be the first to solve the case. I finished the original case in a matter of hours, I expect that you should be able to as well. I played with the case information a bit, but I have provided you with all the information that you will be unable to get with your current resources. So, this case is simpler that that of one where you must start from scratch. The missing information, you will have to uncover yourself. Hence, the wide amount of technology open to you, internet access and all."

"Is that all?" Mello asked after L had stopped talking.

"No. There's a catch."

They waited.

"You will be working in pairs."

_-12:04pm-_

Pairs?

Mello narrowed his eyes. He wasn't one for teamwork. At least, not with anyone in here.

"Any particular reason?" he asked.

"I wish to examine your level of work when working with others." L had moved on to a bowl of chocolate éclairs. "Mello, I would like for you to work with Near. Christopher will be working with Jaylin."

So that was why she was here.

"Certainly." Near.

"L…you know that I cannot work with him," Mello said, smothering a look of disgust. Work with Near? His rival? The only obstacle keeping _him _from being number one? Impossible.

L glanced between them, frowning. After a few seconds, he shrugged.

"If you must. You will work with Jaylin, and Near will work with Christopher."

Mello nodded tersely.

He'd much rather prefer to work by himself, but anything, really, was better than working with Near. So long as _he _was best.

The four took their respective positions, Jaylin sitting beside him.

"All the computers in this room are set to standby. You may begin as soon as you wish."

Mello's long fingers hit the space bar in front of him promptly.

It opened to a document.

_On July 4__th__, a woman, two men, and a child were murdered in Springfield, Illinois…_

Another murder case. He finished reading within seconds, turning to the person next to him.

L had set up numerous other documents on the computing device. It would be extremely helpful to split up the amount of reading the two would have to do, but Mello had yet to find out whether this person was competent or not.

"The fourth of July is a national holiday in the United States. These people were probably killed on that holiday for a reason. I'll look into the child's and the woman's background, you handle the two men," said the girl before he could reach a decision. His initial reaction was anger. Who was she to go around ordering him?

"I'll look into all their backgrounds. You look into anyone with prominent ties to the holiday itself," he ordered, refusing to be the follower.

"But that will be quite a waste until we've got their backgrounds down," she mused. Suddenly, she smirked. "Think I'm incompetent?"

Mello suppressed a growl.

"You probably are."

Her smirk widened.

"I'm hurt. What happened to the courteous sweet boy I met in the library?"

"Look who's talking."

She turned back to her computer, still smirking. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to beat those two over there."

He sighed.

"Yeah. Go look up people with prominent ties to the Fourth of July, like I told you to."

_-3:04pm-_

…_before the date of murder—_

"Christopher, I believe that I've found something."

Light stopped reading, and turned to the seventeen year old childlike teen beside him.

"Since the year 1997, these four people have all attended the same exact fireworks celebration area every Fourth of July."

"I see. So we'll need to find everyone who has also attended the same fireworks celebration since the year 1997."

"Affirmative."

Light smirked inwardly. He had found that bit of information quite a while ago, and had already discovered two individuals who matched all their criteria. And 'Near' was supposedly the better of the two at logistics. At this rate, he'll only need to convince L that Kira's ideals won't interfere with L's precious 'justice.'

But, truthfully, Light had known that _that _was his only obstacle since the beginning.

_-4:47pm-_

"…Almost there," he whispered under his breath. His fingers flew in anticipation, opening windows, searching in engines.

There.

…_Windel Gray was the owner of the shoe factory in Norwood._

Shoe factory. Norwood.

All he needed was one more piece of information.

_Enter._

Mello scanned the page.

Nothing.

_Enter._

_Norwood. Shoe Factory. 1997._

He clicked on the link.

"Mello,take a look at this…" muttered Jaylin.

"Hold on."

"I think it's something important."

"Shut up."

He shot her a glare, which she returned evenly.

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He turned his ice blue eyes back to his own screen.

…_Northen, Notel, Ophelis, Pannamoore—_

"That was quite simple," proclaimed a voice that Mello was only vaguely familiar with.

"Yes," murmured a soft, stoic one. "Hilary Stanton murdered the four victims."

…_Damn…it…Not…again…He…beat me…They…both of them…beat me…_

"Mello?" asked the person next to him.

"I…thought I told you…to shut up."

"I—," she started. Then, to the others, she stated, "Yes, we solved the case as well. Stanton committed the murders out of blind rage at her divorced husband, Gray."

_How…in Hell's name…did she know? _

"Well done, that is correct." L paused. "Mello?"

Mello, having semi-gotten over the disbelief, was close to shaking with rage. Close to, but he was able enough to restrain himself. Not in front of L. Not in front of Near.

"Yes." His voice was flat, emotionless.

"I was inquiring about your health."

"My health is perfectly fine. I'll be going now."

He rose swiftly from his seat, and walked out the door. Mello barely managed to push back the urge to slam it. Immediately, he headed outside, clutching the cross he wore.

A few hours ago, he was second only to Near. Near, perfect little Near, always number one, always first. Second…always the first loser. He hated it. He hated being second best, hated being runner-up, hated it, _hated it. _In his rage, his rage that consumed every fiber of his being, every ounce of his existence, drenching the walls, lathering the floor, he wasn't aware of his surroundings, only knew that he wanted out. Wanted to leave everything behind, and for once, not have to _fucking worry about winning or losing. _

But he couldn't. Couldn't because his damned pride wouldn't let him forget it. Mello had always worked so hard to be best. He worked so hard…but no. Everything, everywhere, always, _always, _there was something more important, someone better, he always was second-best. Always second-best, never, _never, _first. And damn, it hurt. No matter what he did, he was damned to be second-best. No matter what he did, God never looked at him long enough to see him. When you were first, you had everything. Respect, power, pride…but as second, it was like you didn't exist. Who needs the second best when they have the best?

Who needs Mello when they've got Near?

And now, brown-haired pretty boy Christopher Lee comes along. Comes along and beats him. Comes along and knocks him down to third. It was bad enough being second, but _third?_ If he were anybody else, he wouldn't mind being third. But he was Mello, and Mello wasn't anybody else. Mello…The unbelievably proud bastard who worked his ass off, but no matter what, no matter _what_, he still couldn't satisfy his fucking pride. Still slave to his arrogance.

A slave that would do anything to please his master. And when the master was angry, hurt, it was always the slave that suffered. The slave who desperately longed for freedom, the slave that refused to let go of his master.

One damned case. One case that Near and that Lee beat him at. But…this case was more than 'one damned case.' For god's sake, L, _L _gave us the fucking test case. The L they were competing for the title of. One chance to prove that Mello was best, not Near.

And he screwed it up.

-_4:56pm-_

Mello's reaction had been rather unexpected.

Then again, Jaylin really didn't know what to expect from Mello. After all, she had known him for…less than a day.

Still, the Mello now seemed so different from the little boy she had met all those years ago, the one in the library. His initial reaction to working with her, and his arrogance all suggested that the little boy she had met, the lighthearted, nice child was gone.

It made her sad, in a way.

Normally, a five minute encounter with anyone would be easily forgotten, or discarded as unimportant by most people, but that little five minute encounter…was nice. Talking to someone other than her brother and Wammy (not saying that either of them was boring, or unkind) wasn't something she did often. And when she did, it wasn't casual conversation, or anything remotely…nice…for that matter. That 'little five minute encounter' was different, for once.

And, all lies and falsity discarded, she was hoping for another one of those 'five minute encounters.' But Mello had acted as if he didn't know her, or that she was any other bothersome person. And again, all lies and falsity discarded, she really wasn't expecting anything else. Still…

It made her sad, in a way.

"I'll…be back," she said.

Jaylin headed towards the door, not really knowing why she just didn't let him be. Maybe because she wanted to make sure that little boy was really gone. Maybe because she wanted to find that little boy again.

Either way, she decided against just sitting there.

The hall was empty. Mello could be anywhere in this gargantuan building. His room, perhaps? No, she didn't know where that was. The easier way to do it would be to hijack Roger's security system, but she really didn't feel like going that far. Or she could just go around asking whether anyone's seen a blond haired teen about the age of eighteen. But, again, she wasn't the most social being on earth.

Searching aimlessly felt like it might take a while, but she decided to go for it anyways. Jaylin recalled the rosary he wore around his neck, a cross swinging from the line of small beads. He must be catholic, or something of that sort, she concluded. Then her best bet would be…the abandoned church in front of Wammy's, she decided.

After a few minutes, she arrived at the entrance to the gothic styled church. The entrance was left unlocked, so with a few squeaks and moans, Jaylin managed to open it. Passing through the entrance hall, the glass mirrors, she found the door to the center room left open. Quietly, she slipped in.

Rows of seats ran up the sides, leaving an open aisle down the center. And, in the back center, a large stained glass window, a cross with a man nailed to it. Jaylin glanced around the room, and found it empty, except for a single hunched black figure seated towards the front. Jaylin walked up the aisle, passing the wooden row of benches and chairs, towards the million-shade window. Her shoes clacked softly against the stone floor. As she reached the first row of benches, she stopped. The figure seated there shifted slightly, blond hair swaying as he observed the other being.

"That's so beautiful," she remarked, looking at the stained glass window.

"What…are you doing here?" he hissed.

"Strange, isn't it? That it could look so beautiful while portraying something so morbid."

"Leave…me alone."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that this building belonged to you," she retorted, sitting down.

"Why d'you follow me?" he snapped, looking up.

"I didn't. I found this place on my own."

"Why couldn't you just mind your own business? Stay with your brother, celebrate with _Near _and _Christopher_, about how you figured it out for our 'team?'"

"When you use the term 'team', it's—"

"Dammit, just leave! What's your problem, really? Team or not, they got the answer before us, and then you had to go and state the fucking solution when it was so freaking obvious that I didn't get it yet! Do you fucking realize how stupid that makes me look!? It's bad enough being second, hell, it's worse being third, but do you know how fucking goddamned horrible it is to be fourth?!"

"Would you rather I stayed quiet and let the other two gloat, while we remained clueless?" she said quietly.

"I'd rather you shut the hell up and fucking leave!"

"Mello—"

"Please. Just leave. Coming in damn last, last in front of L, that's enough."

Jaylin stayed quiet. She barely knew Mello, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that this was an extremely proud human being. Not just proud because he was a genius, for any amount of intelligence always came with a fair amount of pride, but because he was Mello. And…for someone immensely proud, to have your pride damaged is worse than…a great deal many things.

"Maybe it'd be better if you knew that I had solved the original case before, with L," she started.

"…What?"

"L wanted to see your level of work when working together with Near, and vice versa. I was supposed to work with Lee, though only so as to make things seem even. I wasn't supposed to help him, only be there so that you and Near wouldn't complain about having it easy."

"L…he…Wait. Why not just properly pair up the Lee guy, to make things fair?"

Jaylin shrugged.

"L believes that he's capable of being a challenge by himself."

"He's…L believes that Lee's better than Near and I alone."

"Perhaps."

Mello was silent.

"…Then why not just make Lee his successor already? Did he come back to Wammy's just to tell Near and I that we've failed?" Mello's voice seeped bitterness and anger.

"No. He has his reasons."

Silence.

"…Why d'you come?"

"I wanted to see if the little boy I met is still here."

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe."

"…Why do you even bother?"

"Hm?"

"So what if he's gone? Why do you care?"

Jaylin thought. Should she answer that question?

"He was the only person I talked to as…" As what? A friend? No, it was barely five minutes. "As myself."

Mello scoffed.

"Is that so? Well, then you won't find him."

She sighed.

"That is…unfortunate."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"Expect? No, not really." _Hope? Yes. But that's why they invented two separate words. _"I wonder what happened to him."

Pause.

"…He died a while ago."

"Is that it? How so?"

She glanced at the blond, watching as he frowned.

"Jealousy. Arrogance. They killed him."

She turned back to the window. The sunlight still lit the various colors, red and green and blue dancing along the edges. The birds outside could still be heard chirping. The world, life, everything went on as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had happened.

"Isn't that fitting…Jealousy and Arrogance…the downfall of angels…"

And perhaps nothing had.

"…Mihael."

**A/N: **In that last reference to the Bible, Mihael's the angel of loyalty and fidelity. When I realized that Mello was named after an angel, I was like 'Cool!'


	6. Successor

**A/N: **Oops...that took me a while. Blame the evil malfunctioning laptop...

**Chapter 5: Successor**

--, _September 17__th__, 2008, 6:02am_

…_Come, child, I am waiting…_

_Come claim that which is rightfully yours…_

…_Embedded in the annual clock…_

_That which is rightfully yours…_

…_Come, let your eyes guide you…_

_Guide you to where I wait…_

_Where I wait…_

_I wait…_

Beyond woke with a start. Strange…it managed to startle him every time, yet he had been having the same dream for the past few months. The same dream…prolonged every few weeks.

The first time, it had only been a single word, _come, _the rest, a chant that he could not hear. Like his mind was set on tormenting him by revealing things at a snail's pace.

Strange.

But how appropriate that was for him. Reoccurring dreams with a message? The utter perfection of it. The classical sign of hallucinogenic craze. Without drugs.

That would be fitting, wouldn't it, for someone 99.99 of the world he had encountered viewed as crazy? But he couldn't help but feel…Every time he had that dream, he felt the same way he usually did when he used his…his eyes…_Let your eyes guide you…_

The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile.

His eyes. For some abnormal reason, Beyond was born with the supernatural ability to see a person's name and lifespan so long as he could see their face. The human possibility? He had no idea. It was just something he could…do. Maybe that was why he seemed rather insane…doubled with the fact that his eyes switched constantly from a normal dark brown to a chilling red.

No matter…the dream was coming to an end, he could feel it…just a few more days…and he'd have his answer. He could claim whatever it was that 'belonged to him'…Maybe it was originality, superiority…over L…that would be nice.

L.

The smile disappeared.

Since the day he was brought to Wammy's…L was always the superior. Never Beyond…no. Beyond Birthday was always second-best, runner-up. B was supposed to be for Best, wasn't it? How mocking. Because B was also for Back-up. The duplicate, never the original. Yes, B was for best. Second best.

But not for long. No matter what that 'thing' was, he would someday claim superiority over L. Someday soon. After all, he was currently where he was for a reason.

Strangely enough, when the little orphan boy with the large, flat eyes, and messy black hair first came, the 'name' he saw floating above his numerical lifespan was…another number. 62. Strange. Or maybe not. Beyond was inclined to believe that his own name was a blank, until he came to adopt the name 'Beyond Birthday' for himself. The date of Death. Beyond the day of Birth…

He talked to the boy named 62, because he just seemed so…interesting. And, sure enough, he was. He was a genius, not just in the human sense, in the Wammy sense. A genius among genii. Finally, someone Beyond could talk to with having to condescend himself. Someone with a name's history, perhaps like to Beyond's own name.

But his name changed. After a while, it became 62 Lawliet. A last name, then. Beyond surmised that he had tracked down his biological parents. He, himself, was still clueless to the identity of his biological parents. Sometimes, it was better to fancy that he had none.

Then came the girl.

Janelle Lawliet.

Certainly, it could have been a coincidence, but further interaction proved not.

So 62 had a sister.

How rare that was.

She was intelligent as well, but he never really bothered to find out. First third person acquaintance, she seemed far too much like the nice, quiet, artsy type.

Soon 62 changed to L.

And L…was amazing.

He surpassed everyone's expectations, he solved the case of Coil's death.

And he took the title that Beyond had been set on getting.

The title meant for Beyond.

But…Beyond became the backup. The duplicate.

And, perhaps to mock them, Beyond exaggerated his duplication. He acted like L. He sat like L. He dressed like L. But he exaggerated with purpose. Exaggerated to show that the duplicate will, at some point, surpass the original.

And he will.

He swung his legs over the bed, and shuffled over to the window. The sky was clear of clouds, the sun shining over Winchester, Great Britain, boldly. His slender fingers found the item he was aimlessly looking for.

A blue sketchbook.

Suddenly, he grinned, mouth twisting into a malicious smirk.

He will surpass L.

_Winchester, Great Britain, September 17__th__, 2008, 8:08pm_

Mello stared out the window as Matt drove down the road, ignoring the angry honks and jibes from incompetent others as he skimmed between thin gaps and speed past flashing lights. How typical of him, really. Matt never did follow all those minor safety laws in driving.

Huh.

Actually, Matt never did follow some of the pretty major laws as well.

Well, what to expect, really?

After all, Mello had never heard of one video game where you get a 'game over' unless you actually follow the rules of this screwed up world. And Matt naturally applied all assets of his games to real life.

And even now, the only reason Matt was out today was to buy some new games for his system. Whether to play or to frankensteinify into one of his little hacking toys, Mello had no idea. Neither did he really care, for the matter. The only reason _he_ came was for the prospect of the chocolate Matt had promised to buy for him.

And he did…

The only problem was…well…

Mello consumed it all.

It was gone.

And he wasn't happy.

"Matt, hurry it up. Doesn't take three hours to get back to Wammy's."

"Sheesh, Mel, I'm already going past speed limit. Go any faster, and the police will be on me."

"Then shoot them to hell," he muttered.

Matt snorted, apparently hearing over the roar of the wind.

"Real smart, Mel."

"I wasn't the one who spent four hours jumping from store to store for _video games._"

"It was three hours, and fifty minutes."

"Same thing. Why the hell do you need me to come anyways?"

He caught the familiar motion of a shrug.

"Company's always nice. Besides, you wanted to come."

"For the chocolate. Which, by the way, is gone."

"Deal with it, Mel. You had some earlier today."

"Matt…"

"We'll be back at Wammy's soon. Stuff your face then."

Soon?

"An hour and a half does not constitute soon."

"Too bad for you," smirked Matt.

"Dammit, just stop over at some candy store or bakery!"

"Nuh-uh. I know how long it takes for you to buy a single bar of chocolate, and I'm not gonna wait my ass off for that long."

"…Do you _want _me to kill you during withdrawal?"

"Nah. I'll knock you out first."

"…"

"Besides, you technically can't go through withdrawal from lack of chocolate."

"You really are one to talk, aren't you?"

"There's a fine line between addictive drugs and chocolate."

"Look closer," he muttered. Then, in a louder voice, he added, "Drop me off two blocks from here. You go shop for your damn games at that electronics store six streets down. Come get me when you're done."

"Why am I the dad?"

"You've got the car, ass. Over there," he pointed out the large mall. There had to be some sort of candy shop there.

"Whoa, whoa, didn't say I'd agree."

"_Matt. _Stop the damn car. Go shop for your damn video games. Or I'll tell Roger about your ghosting project."

Matt seemed to consider this as he slowed down.

Finally, the car came to a stop.

"Fine, but hurry up."

Mello rolled his eyes, and swung open the door.

"See ya," he said, as a soft breeze of heated air gushed by him, the car leaving.

Mello turned to the mall. Somewhere in this big mass of random crap, there had to be some chocolate. And so he walked towards it hopefully, taking into mind nothing but his first and only priority: chocolate.

The glass door swung open automatically, sensors perceiving a moving being. Immediately, Mello felt the cool air conditioning overtake the summer heat. Inside, the wide hallways opened to various miniature malls and shops and store. A little girl dragged her annoyed parent towards a toy store, and a group of giggling girls walked excitedly towards a fancy clothing store. His mind took in the details half-heartedly; no candy store. But he didn't given up on chocolate.

His leather boots met the polished floor with a soft _clack, _audially drowned out by the sound of another hundred footsteps. Mello felt it, however, as he moved down the long entrance. There _had _to be a candy store or a bakery or whatever somewhere. He wouldn't mind chocolate mousse, or chocolate cake, at this point, so long as it was _chocolate. _

It was after a few minutes of strolling around when he heard a belated "Daddy, I want cotton candy too!"

Immediately, his head snapped towards the voice. Where there was candy, there might be chocolate. And indeed, there was.

The little boy that had spoken was pointing eagerly at a candy shop not too far from where Mello was standing. He could see the rows and racks of lollipops, gummy bears, cotton candy, and…and…_chocolate._

The sight of it made his mouth water.

_There you go, Matt. Chocolate definitely can cause withdrawal. _

Without wasting another second, he speed over to the little shop. Upon entering, the strong smell of sweets met him, and a dazzling arrange of fruity colors danced before him. He had no eyes but for the chocolate.

Without bothering to look at the flavor he picked up, Mello grabbed a few large bars of Ghirardelli. He dropped them across the counter, along with a good six pounds. The cashier was eyeing him quizzically. Mello ignored the large man behind the cash register, and motioned for him to hurry up. His chocolate was waiting.

In a matter of seconds, Mello had ripped open the wrapping on the most conveniently located bar of heaven, and had consumed a good half of it. The creamy sugar-infested brown bar melted over his tongue, and the delicious chocolaty goodness traveled down his beseeching throat.

As if he'd died and gone to heaven.

Without the highly unnecessary and rather awkward 'dying' part.

In a matter of seconds, the first bar was gone. Mello turned back to the large rack of sweets, in search of more of the tantalizing items, ignoring the weirded-out look the other shoppers(and cashier) were giving him. Within a few seconds, Mello decided that this rather large candy store was a heavily branded form of heaven.

Heaven…

Equus Fine chocolates…

Lindt…

Bodega chocolates…

Choclatique…

Coco-luxe confections…

Kustom Konfections…

Ecco Bella…

Matt wasn't joking when he said it took Mello about forever to get a decent bag of chocolates.

_Winchester, Great Britain, September 17__th__, 2008, 9:01pm_

It was dark.

And cool.

And Matt was nowhere to be seen.

Mello sighed in frustration, taking another bite out of his bar of chocolate.

And Matt said _he _took too long.

Mello had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, and still no sign of the familiar scarlet car. The moon was faintly visible in the dark sky, and, although supposedly summer, the air had a slight chill to it. Waiting much longer certainly did not appeal to him, even with his heavenly treats, he still longed to get some rest. Who knew what that disquieting L had in store for them the next day? They'd already encountered 'idealistic justice' conversations, which that goddamned Lee had to steal the lead on, a recreational ice sculpting thing (yes, in summer), and a cooking competition. L supposedly claimed that these were all merely tests of successorship, but…cooking? Yes, L was a genius, so maybe he had a hidden agenda, but still…ice sculpting?

And every time, it was 'work in pairs!' He wouldn't have burnt the muffins if Near hadn't been too busy drawing people with the left-over mix! Who knows, maybe tomorrow it'll be a dancing competition? The only competitive test he'd had since L came was the first one, the July 4th case. The one he'd…lost.

The thought set him off.

Mello couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand waiting by that damned entrance to the mall for another second. Matt was, to put it mildly, screwed, courtesy of Mello's wrath.

He turned towards the direction of the electronics store, six streets down. It would take him a few minutes walk to reach the store, but it was better than waiting for Matt to drive over after he was done video-game shopping. Maybe they'll meet on the way. But knowing his luck…

After a few seconds walking with thoughtful reflection, Mello settled on taking the chance of a shortcut. Matt usually takes a fair amount of time to flip through all the games in the store, and Mello wouldn't put it past him to take another few quarter hours to select and eliminate the best, one at a time. Sometimes, all Mello wanted was a few million pounds, just so Matt could stop dragging Mello along with him on his little game-breezing rampages. Right now, he wanted a few billion pounds. Just to go home. And eat chocolate…

It really was night by the time he approximated the half-way point to the store. Not many people were out, especially not in the little block of spaced out houses he was breezing through. Mello really couldn't believe that they had just spent all their time today...shopping. Such a feminine hobby, really. But many would say that Mello seemed quite feminine. He wasn't, really, just his hair. He liked it long; it complemented his face. Not that his face needed extra _complimenting_, quite the contrary. Mello had a very angular, pretty face for a guy. He didn't ask for it to be, it just was. Even his body structure seemed…Mello liked to call it eloquent, or graceful, for a male. Which was why he tended to attract both females and males. He, personally, didn't know his sexual orientation; he'd say he didn't have one. No one, of either sex, really attracted him all that much, and he highly doubted that anyone ever would. Sure, he and Matt were pretty close, but he didn't feel for Matt _that _way, just like a brother. One you would love to strangle the life out of…soon…

It really was night by now. Matt had no excuse for—

All too suddenly, Mello detected the soft sound of cloth yanked against skin. It was too quiet, so quiet that he wouldn't have heard it if the wind blew any harder. The sound…he'd heard it before, though. Instinctively, he turned, sidestepping quickly. He barely missed an unknown object sailing past his unprotected throat.

_Shit._

Turning quickly towards the place the…whatever it was…came from, Mello braced himself to see some fierce armed maniac. He'd had experiences with the mafia, before he ran away and Roger found him and took him in, and as prior knowledge, when someone aims something like that at you without your knowing until the last minute, they're dangerous.

What he found was a hundred times worse.

There was no one in sight.

Mello quickly suppressed the panic, instincts kicking into gear. He must have been too surprised to hear them move.

_They'll attack from behind, _he surmised. He'd have to be quiet and wait for the attack to dodge it or otherwise. If he turns…they'll meet him head-on, and without a weapon…

_Damn._

The question was…what did they want with him? Did they know…? No, they can't…_Damn it, Matt, hurry up…!_

Then he remembered that he'd taken the short cut, the one Matt couldn't use, because the 'streets' weren't fit for driving.

"Mello, isn't it?"

He froze. Fear shot through him, ice engulfed his veins. That voice…sounded familiar. But he had no idea…

His alias…

How did…?

Why…?

It cackled. Mello stiffened.

He felt a soft, unnatural breeze, and turned instinctively, dodging the blow of whatever he knew was coming. His eyes were alert, hoping to catch a glimpse of his attacker. All he caught was a sliver of ebony black hair.

Good enough.

Before he could recover, Mello felt something threatening to press against his throat, so close he felt it, even though the contact wasn't quite direct. This time, Mello swung around openly, and, knowing that he was at a disadvantage, took his chance; he hurled his gloved covered fist towards his estimation of where the attacker was standing.

Something soft came into contact, and he pulled back his other arm, this time aiming higher. His fist met empty air. Mello could feel the fingers of his attacker close around his right arm, and they felt…thin…and long…and bony. They stayed there, gripping forcefully, for a split second, because immediately after, the full impact of what must have been a kick met Mello's chest.

At first, he was only aware of something harp, unrelenting, meeting his body. Then, it came. His head exploded; his eyes, for a few seconds, saw only a dark red, veering towards black. It hurt. Mello had been through this before, but it was still…painful. After the first shock of the sharp, dagger-like pain swept through his body, he registered the throbbing ache in his chest. Whoever this mysterious attacker was, he was strong. And that wasn't good for Mello.

The footsteps.

He heard footstep. Internally, he decided to stay where he was. Maybe land a surprise attack or something.

_Good luck with that one, Mels, _he heard Matt say in the back of his mind.

The footsteps stopped. There was silence.

Mello held back a gasp of surprise as ice-cold fingers met his face, twisting it up from its sideways position. He felt hot, warm liquid trickle down the right side, stinging his scrapped jaw and cheekbone.

"Mihael Keehl, eh?"

Mello's eyes almost shot open. His name. How in hell's name…?

Not even Roger knew…Only Matt…and…and…

But _she _wouldn't tell anyone…would she?

The low voice let out a bark of laughter. A chill ran down his spine. When speaking, the voice was low and smooth, but that _laugh…_Nothing short of terrifying.

His hand shot out, tracing that ghastly sound back to its owner. Mello's eyes shot open in the same instance. And what he saw…

It couldn't be.

_L?_

But—

Wait. It wasn't. Similar, just not quite. Same black ebony hair, large, owl-like eyes, pale, angular features, and that bent over posture. But different.

Because L didn't have red irises that spelt 'inhuman.' Definitely not L.

Then who—?

The L-imposter suddenly jumped up, barely dodging Mello's punch, and skipped to the other side. Mello, himself, rolled in the opposing direction, dropping all focuses but one: stay out of reach of the bastard, whoever the hell he was.

Internally, Mello swore to guilt the life out of Roger for confiscating his weapons. Not all of them, he still had some in his room…but…not with him. How stupid of him, really, to let his guard down. Calculating quickly, dragging his eyes over his opponent, Mello concluded that so long as his opponent had no directly fatal weapon, he could get out of this with all his limbs. Then he remembered the dart-like unknown object.

Perhaps not.

Then again, Mello didn't have as much problem with missiles as he did with direct weapons; he knew how to handle missiles with perfection, and he could calculate their destination fairly well before they hit. On top of that, he was fast, and his body was naturally flexible. But if it came to close range…less time for his brain to work its wonders.

Thankfully, the L-look-alike didn't look the type to go for close range. Then again…he was an _L_-look-alike…if he was anything like L…then he'd be a Jack-of-all-trades, minus the second part of the phrase, for L was a master of many.

All in all, in the seconds that it took him to get into a standing position, he'd drilled all the possibilities through his head. So, then…he was stupidly weaponless, the other could have any possible array of weapons on him, he didn't know his attacker's capabilities, or his motive…but he did know his own skills.

It seemed wrong to him, really, but even Mello knew when it was time to drop pride.

He threw the rock that he had found in his split-second roll to rise, and hurled it at the L-imposter.

Then he ran, not waiting to see whether it hit his target or not. Knowing his aim, it probably did, but at the moment, it didn't matter. Even if it didn't hit, Mello was paying close enough attention to catch the sound of any missile type being released.

After a few hour-like minutes(or was it merely seconds?) all sound died off, except for the pounding o his own heart, and the clack of his leather boots. Mello slowed down, relieved to have gotten away from those crimson…eyes. Those inhuman, chill-invoking eyes…He scowled inwardly; why should such things bother him? His hand went towards his pant pocket, where his cell phone-hopefully not broken-was waiting expectantly. Just to ascertain himself, Mello twisted his head to see the empty street behind him—

Big mistake.

Before he could react, the L-imposter wrapped one hand around his throat, another looping around his chest from behind. A sharp pain stung the side of his neck.

Drugged injection of a sort…how cliché…

"Letting our guard down again now, aren't we?" a voice spoke into his left ear. And, although there was the…whatever it was…drugging his system, Mello couldn't suppress the evident shudder. The voice…even the voice, so close and clear, sounded inhuman. "What a pity…this is what L has in mind to replace me?"

It laughed eerily.

"…What a pity…hah. Hah. Well, Mihael, angel, tell L…that B said hi, eh?"

A hoot, a cackle, and a familiar ring tone playing faintly in the background.

And the world descended into a pure, moonless Night.

--

**A/N: **And so the actual plot semi-begins...I know there's not too much LxLight yet...but it's coming...sometime in the future...I'm just beginning things off with the other characters. Don't hate me. ;)

The next chapter should be up a lot faster...


	7. Search

Chapter 6: Search

**AN: **Okay. I'm still alive… What can I say? I'm sorry….really sorry….and just last chapter I promised a faster update…..well, months certainly isn't fast. Yeah, I'd say that something came up…but I can't really use that as an excuse. Well, I kind of had this chapter for a while…I just never got to posting it…the horror called real life got in the way. So sorry to those of you reading this little fanfic of mine…

And also, the rest of the chapters might come at a slower pace (not THIS slow), I'm just suddenly very busy.

**Chapter 6: Search**

_Wammy's House,__ September 17__th__, 2008, __11:32pm _

"Checkmate."

"…That's an illegal move."

"It is legal for this plane."

"…No. It isn't. It's legal for the third plane. You're using the fourth."

"Whatever do you mean? This is the third plane."

"Right before left."

"And I am counting as such. Do you not agree that this is my right?"

"…Labels, L."

"I do not see any labels."

"Liar."

"I'm hurt. You accuse your own brother of lying?"

"Make your move, please, _dear, unfortunately visually impaired _brother."

The man across the board shrugged, his pale hand moving toward a glass bishop. L set down the selected piece into its desired position, the sound unusually loud for glass being set on glass.

Unusually loud, perhaps because of the added extra soundtrack of a door opening. Both raven-haired humans turned to their left instinctively, to watch a dark brunet enter.

"Hey, does anyone know where Near is?"

"I'm afraid not, Matt. Is he not in his room?" asked L.

"I…no. Any ideas on where he might be?"

"Anywhere concerning toys is a very likely destination," offered the figure hunched over the chess board…ish set. Jaylin observed in silence. It didn't seem like her contributions to the conversation were necessary.

A frown came over the brunet's face, visible because his goggles hung limply around his neck as opposed to covering his eyes.

"Alright, then…" He turned around to leave, something about his movements seeming a bit off.

"You could ask Mello. I think it's safe to assume that if Near is not anywhere within…a camera's view, he is most likely with Mello, to further their competitive sense," advised the detective.

"…No. That's why I'm trying to find Near…"

Understanding and confusion came to Jaylin in the same moment they went to L.

"Was he not with you earlier?"

Matt turned back to them.

"Yes."

"Please elaborate."

"Well…he went off for chocolate, an I took the car somewhere else, and I was supposed to pick him up, except when I did, he wasn't there. I thought I took too long, and he just took a bus back to Wammy's or…uh…borrowed…another mode of transportation. He could have decided to walk over to where I was, but when I called him, he didn't answer…so I assumed that he was already back at Wammy's."

"He isn't, then," stated L confidently.

"Yeah. I can't…find…him."

Both brother and sister saw the implication.

"Did you forget to unghost a camera?"

"I…no."

"Hm. I'll take your word that Mello wasn't at the location where he was suppose to be."

Matt nodded.

So Mello's whereabouts were unknown.

"Call the phone he had on him," ordered L. Jaylin understood, her brother could not afford a missing successor. Especially not one who knew so much about L and the orphanage.

Matt did as he was told.

They waited in silence for faint ringing from the red cell phone in the brunet's hands.

The ringing didn't come. Instead, Jaylin heard a faint, indiscernible jumbled of words.

After a few seconds, Matt snapped the phone shut, face troubled.

"It's…blocked."

_Blocked?_

"Does he normally do that?"

"…No. Not when I called him two times earlier. Not even to Near. I didn't even know he knew how to, without the proper equipment."

L sat in thought.

"Who else contacted him recently, on that cell phone?"

"I did, with Drake's, and I think Roger did as well, when I forgot to ghost him wandering down the halls in the middle of the night."

"I see." The detective's thumb traveled to his mouth. "Matt, contact the same number with Drake's phone. Jaylin, I believe that we should go find Roger. Come to Roger's office immediately after, Matt."

He nodded, and left.

L turned to his sister.

"I fear that we're headed for a tad bit of trouble."

"Yes…I think it's reasonable to assume that Mello...isn't in the safest position at the moment."

"Shall we go?"

Jaylin nodded once.

-

Roger seemed rather surprised to see them at his office, but he kept his mouth shut. He seemed even more surprised when L asked for the usage of the phone he called Mello with. But, of course, he didn't object.

The dark-haired man tapped his index finger delicately on the numeric pad.

After a few seconds, he set down the phone, and spoke.

"It's blocked," he stated grimly.

"L?" Roger asked in incomprehension.

"We're afraid…that Mello has disappeared, and not of his own accord."

"Mello?" he echoed, surprise dotting his aged face.

"Yes, that is what I said," stated L.

Roger began with a launch of questions, all of which L answered shortly and briefly, not bothering to go anywhere near detail. Soon, the expected and anticipated knock was heard.

The door was opened, and Matt came in, wearing a blank face.

"Blocked," he said simply.

L nodded.

"As I suspected."

"What now?" came the question that L must have heard many times over.

"Finding Mello should be our first priority," started L. "Let us assume that he was…attacked, per se? It would not be in a public, open area, or in other words, the mall. But I believe that it would be close. However, no matter how close, there is a very large number of possible places that Mello could be. If he were simply left unconscious, then there's a chance that once he wakes up, he'll be able to find his way back. However, that would be highly unlikely. The longer we give his attacker, the better the chance that he'll put Mello in danger. Our best bet would be to go for the traditional method; a search party."

"Listening."

"I do not want word of this to get out to the other students. Therefore, our search party will consisted of a limited amount of persons. That is, all of us in this room…and two more."

"Two more?"

"Yes, Wammy and Christopher. Roger, if you could retrieve them for us?"

"Certainly."

"If you could meet us outside…"

_Winchester, Great Britain, September 18__th__, 12:35am_

They had split up.

There were six of them that formed the 'Mello search party,' and after a few minutes of talking out their plan, they had reached a final decision of each going in their own direction.

Jaylin knew that L viewed what they were doing as below his usual style, but sometimes, tradition was the best way to work things out.

She glanced around her, the faint light of the moon acting as a flashlight, since she deemed it most tacticious to leave off her own, for fear of drawing attention in the case that Mello wasn't simply left unconscious.

It was dark, where she was searching. There weren't many houses, and the ones present were built with an older style. The streets were…almost nonexistent. This was the less-city-like area of Winchester. If there should be any outlaws or illegal attackings in the area she was investigating, they would be here.

She strolled past a few sparse buildings, inspecting any possible crevice that would give her a clue as to where their lost acquaintance might be. Maybe the bushes harboring who-knows-what, and the lack of awake people should intimidate her, should prevent her from venturing further into the dark, unfamiliar area, but…they didn't. They didn't as they normally would have to her.

There were quite a few old, ancient buildings, but, even in an area like this, there was the possibility that they were inhabited.

_A very slight possibility, _she thought as see passed an especially ancient, haunted-looking house. She continued around it, sidestepping unruly placed rocks, sticks, and stones.

It continued like that for a while, with Jaylin wandering around with the faint hope that all this wasn't for nothing. Unfortunately, after a few minutes of investigating, she found no one. No blond haired Mello dressed in black leather. Really, why did he have to pick black? Why couldn't it have been a color that _didn't _fit perfectly into the night, like yellow, or bright green, or pink, or red—

Red.

Her head snapped back to where it had glanced a fraction of a second ago. There was red. A flash of red through the window of the especially ancient house that she had passed earlier, now passing again on her way back to the car.

But…it wasn't _just _red. It was…a pair of eyes. On a pale, pale face.

Red eyes…what human had red eyes? Was it even genetically possible? …Yes, of course. Albinos. Pale skin, red eyes…but…not black hair. And the eyes weren't simply red…no, they were _crimson. _She had seen those eyes before…

…Should she look inside the houses for Mello?

It was possible that he was being held captive inside one of these houses, but…no. No, she decided. But…if there was even a slight possibility…no matter how slight.

A rush of cool, midnight air drew itself into her lungs, and Jaylin began towards the haunting building. A house, simply, but along with it, came a wisp of terror. Not the house itself, but the possible inhabitant.

The steps creaked slightly, and the black-haired girl hesitated at the door. To knock, or not to knock? To not knock…well, the inhabitant would know that she was coming anyways. So, then, in the case that the owner of the house was an innocent, half-crazed grandpa, she would knock.

Her hand met the door with the force needed to create adequate noise, but, instead of the desired, or rather, expected outcome, the door gave way. The damp air gushed out from inside, the perfect picture of a horror movie. But, unlike the characters in a horror movie, Jaylin had brains. And she also had incentive.

In a typical haunted house, the door would close on the person who enters, but Jaylin knew that by the weight of the door, the wind could not do that. So…if the door closes, then it is by courtesy of a human…and if a human would even want to lock her in, then it was either a childish joke, or…she was on the right track to…something.

So, she took the risk, and left the door alone. Inside, there was a light switch, which, unexpectedly, worked. A bright, and apparently used electricity system, lit the halls. The interior was different from what she had expected, really. Dirty, unkempt, yes, but not…creepy. Like a very untidy L without a Wammy decided to live within it's walls. Carefully, she walked in, and, to her relief and disappointment, heard no _click _of a shutting door.

Well, it was too much to ask for anyways.

Quickly, she made a small tour of the house. Everything was the same, like the entrance halls, as if a very unkempt L lived here. In the living room, there was a perfectly working television, a couch, and papers strewn all over the place; nothing important on them. In the kitchen, there was a whole bunch of…strawberry jam. In the bedrooms, beds, desks, clothes, chairs, laptops. The typical. Nothing seemed out of place, except…there was no one inside. She knew that the red eyes were no hallucination, she _knew _that. But where did the person go? Why did they go?

Mello didn't seem to be here, and, yes, the disappearance of the black-haired albino-like guy was strange, but Mello was her first priority.

Down the stairs, towards the door she went, the next possible destinations flooding her mind. Her hand went towards the door, pulling it open further—

Immediately, she moved the door into a closed position. Behind it…was a blue sketchbook. A blue sketchbook, nailed on the door.

Her blue sketchbook.

The one she thought she had left in New York…the one she went to look for in the car when they first arrived at Wammy's. How the hell did it get _here?_

Carefully, she flipped through, prying the pages from the nail. The same. Everything was the same as she had last seen it. Except…

The most recent drawing.

It was not hers.

Jaylin's heart began to beat faster, as understanding flooded her mind.

Because in the sketch, there was a rosary. A rosary lying in the middle of an area similar to the one Jaylin was in now, one with less…ancient and haunting houses, but rather street-less at the same time. And the only visible lettering…the number on the house closest to the rosary. 9678. And a rosary…Mello.

9678…Six, seven, eight, and a jump to nine?

What could—no. There was more to the sketch…a small piece of paper? No. _The map to a shopping outlet. _Jaylin recognized the name across the top – Junction Outlet. But what does that have to do with…? They weren't even close to any outlet, Mello could not possibly be all the way in Briersfield, so why the outlet map?

Why the sketch, even? It was a very quick sketch, one made in a matter of a few short minutes, so the inhabitant of this house made it when he saw her? But…how would he even know who she was? How would he…know about Mello's whereabouts? Unless…

No. Not yet. Mello was their first priority.

So…numbers and an outlet map…numbers and an—

_Outlet map. _

Each outlet was identified by a number, to be matched to its position on the actual map. Not just outlets, but zoos and large buildings and tour guide books, and…

Junction Outlet. A shopping outlet. So…she had to match the numbers to a store of a sort.

Time to get out of here.


End file.
